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[fawniswriting]

After I Was Too Late

This fic can be read as a stand-alone or as a sequel to Before I Could Say It.

The above image does not indicate the reader's physical appearance.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis: The three times Bucky saved your life, and the one time you save each other.

Word Count: 10.1k (I got carried away)

Warning(s): gn!reader (pls advise me if there's any gender-specific detail in the fic), canon typical violence, angst, fluff, near death experience(s), hurt/comfort, alcohol consumption, physical injuries, it's a kinder ending this time I promise ��❤️ (lmk if I missed anything!!)

Author's Note: PT 2 IS FINALLY HERE Y'ALL!! I'm so sorryy for the delay, my work has been out of control lately (I legit had to go home at 9.30 PM last week 😭🙏🏼). But I've finally finished this piece, and I hope you guys like it!! I'm tagging everyone who left a comment/reblog-comment on the first part but if you prefer to keep the ending to the fic as it was, then you can just skip reading this. And if any of you want to be removed from the taglist, please just let me know!! As always, don't forget to comment, like, and reblog 💖

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

If someone were to ask you about the beginning, your mind would immediately go straight to that day.

Six years ago, your thread of fate wove into his, placing the two of you on polar ends in the middle of a highway shoot-out that revealed the face beneath the infamous Winter Soldier's mask. You recognized him from the sketches littered across Steve Roger's desk: Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky, as Steve had called him. A shadow of the past, long presumed gone to the clutches of war and time. 

Yet, there he was.

Alive and breathing.

And he was trying to kill you.

After the events in D.C., you helped the Captain search for the man who had risen from the dead. You saw Bucky's apartment in Bucharest—a depressing little hole in the wall that was barely suitable for a human being to live in. It nicked at your chest, wrestled with a docile side of your heart that you hadn't entertained since they had dubbed you one of earth's mightiest heroes. And when you finally stood in front of the man—not the Soldat, not the merciless assassin who had sliced a dagger to your side two years prior—your chest tapered at the quiet war waging behind his eyes.

“I wasn't in Vienna,” Bucky told Steve. His eyes flickered briefly towards you as he said it, willing, perhaps, for at least one person in that room to put their trust in him; the man standing vulnerably in that apartment, not the weapon he was forced to become. 

“I don't do that anymore,” he added.

You believed him.

Steve did, too.

The next few hours were a whirlwind of chasing and being chased. After Zemo broke the Winter Soldier out of the facility in Berlin, you took Steve and Sam to an abandoned site you once neutralized where the three of you could keep Bucky safe from the authorities. You watched from the sideline as Steve interrogated Bucky for answers, listening intently while the Captain and the Falcon began rummaging their heads for a viable plan of action. 

Once Sam left to reach out to his contacts, Steve also excused himself from the room, muttering something about needing to make a phone call and leaving you alone with the burly man who was trying miserably to hide behind his curtain of hair.

Wordlessly, you walked towards the paper bag you kept on a rusty oil barrel, grabbing one of its contents before cautiously approaching the brooding man in the center of the room. Bucky looked up the moment you shoved the packaged croissant in his face, confusion shining with blue under the taut crease of dark eyebrows.

“Take it,” you said simply.

Bucky's frown deepened as he stared at your hand. 

You masked the sinking feeling in your stomach with a sigh, putting the package next to the makeshift chair Bucky was sitting on. 

“You haven't eaten since yesterday.” Your hands were buried in the pocket of your jeans as you spoke, hiding the tremble in them so the man in front of you wouldn't see just how much your heart was breaking for him. “We have a long journey ahead of us. And if Steve is anything to go by when it comes to a super soldier's calorie intake, you must be running on extreme deficit by now.”

Bucky stayed silent. 

You scraped the ground with the toe of your shoes, trying to fill in the quietness as you rambled, “I would've loved to prepare you a nice three-course meal, but considering half of the world is on our asses, I didn't think you'd mind a small downgrade. Believe me, I'd kill for a real croissant right now. There's a bakery near the Avengers’ old tower whose owner makes the best chocolate and butter croissants. They're fantastic. This one tastes like a foam board compared to them.”

Bucky continued to stay silent, only perusing you under his intense gaze. You rubbed the back of your neck and managed an awkward chuckle. “You know what? You don't have to eat that. It tastes terrible anyway. I'll just throw it out. Let me see if the pigeons would like some.”

You reached out to grab the plastic packaging, but Bucky stopped you in tracks, grabbing the croissant with a hesitant drag of his hand.

“Thank you,” he muttered curtly.

The sight in front of your eyes would have made you chortle under any other circumstances—the ludicrousness of seeing a Herculean with a metal arm grappling with the flimsy packaging of a factory-made pastry. The croissant was ridiculously small in Bucky’s hand, and you felt foolish for thinking it could offer anything close to sufficient sustenance for a man his size. He could probably devour the whole thing in a single bite and still be starving.

And yet, before he even savored a taste, Bucky tilted the croissant towards you in a silent proposition. An offer to share. To tear the pastry in two as if he didn't barely have enough for himself in the first place. The gesture lurched at something in your chest, winding down your ribs like overgrown vines.

You feigned a smile, feeling it crack around the sorrow you were desperately trying to quell. “That’s for you, Bucky,” you told him softly. “I have mine.”

The man nodded, hesitantly, as if the thought of having something to himself was stranger than fiction. He took a tentative bite, his forehead creasing as he chewed on the sad excuse of a pastry.

“Bad, huh?” You cringed sheepishly. “Told you. It's borderline inedible. You don't have to finish it if you don't want to.”

“I've had worse.”

You clenched your teeth. 

There was no room for doubt in your mind that he probably did have worse than an additive-laden confectionery.

“Yeah?” You didn't know why you were asking. “Like what?”

The metal fingers on Bucky's thigh whirred, like he was flexing, removing the stiffness in his joints if there had been flesh instead of vibranium. You waited with bated breath as he stared at a suspicious puddle on the ground.

“I was stuck in an underground cave system once,” Bucky began, pausing to take a tiny bite of the croissant. He looked defenseless that way. Almost like a child. “Spent a few days there. The only thing around me were bats.”

Your nose wrinkled. “You ate bats?”

Bucky didn't attempt to correct your assumption, just kept on munching on the artificial croissant as if he were a kid snacking on candy.

“Were they… good?”

Stupid.

What an incredibly, unbelievably stupid question.

“They were good enough to keep me alive.”

You didn't know what to say to that.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, “just tell me if you change your mind on that croissant. I can get you something else. Remember those pigeons I mentioned? They're not bats, but they've got, you know… protein.”

Then, upon some kind of miracle, it happened.

Bucky smiled.

It was brief, an ephemeral thing that evaporated by the next time you blinked, but it was there. As clear as day, as real as the foul smell of rotten carcasses that surrounded you in that dismal place.

You willed for the excitement in your belly to die down—the last thing Bucky needed was for you to go deranged over a mere smile, probably one of the firsts he allowed himself to have after decades of drought—giving Bucky a short nod before turning around to reward him some privacy, but you didn't go far before a rough voice halted your footsteps.

When your gaze landed on him again, Bucky was tense. His shoulders curled inward as if struggling desperately to keep himself small, his fingers twitched where they were curled around the half-eaten pastry.

“Are you okay?” he eventually asked.

“Me?” Your eyebrows knitted in a mixture of confusion and surprise. “Uh, I'm fine? Well, as fine as one can be after becoming a fugitive of the law, but otherwise—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

His scrutiny roved over your figure from the distance, as though his stare could penetrate through the deepest layer of skin, lighting up a flame that licked through every inch of your bloodstream. Blue irises jerked towards the side of your abdomen, a fleeting tic, but it was enough to force the realization to dawn on you.

Bucky was talking about your wound.

The laceration wound that he—no, that the Soldat—had administered during your altercation in D.C.

Instinctively, your hand lifted, brushing against the jagged scar that you knew was seething under the cover of your shirt. The simple movement didn't escape Bucky's notice, and you chastised yourself for your lack of consideration when you saw his body fold lower towards his knees.

“Bucky—”

“I'm sorry,” he said heavily, shakily. A striking fragility from a man who was supposed to be carved out of steel.

You shook your head in urgency, crossing the distance between you and him before stopping a good six feet away from the defeated man. He didn’t even look up at your proximity, keeping his head angled to the ground, shrinking more and more with every passing second as if he wanted to disintegrate into oblivion.

With careful strides, you removed the remaining space separating you and Bucky, sinking to your knee right in front of him. You called his name softly, begging him to glance up, coaxing him out of the shell of condemnation that he had crawled himself into.

When he finally peered at you, the blue of his eyes had dimmed into a stormy gray. You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to lean forward and gather this broken man into your arms.

“Bucky,” you called his name again, resolutely this time. Firm and steady, offering no room for even an ounce of doubt or a breath of protest. “It wasn't your fault.”

Bucky fleered.

“I mean it.” You searched his gaze, commanding him to stay there, to not run away from your eyes because you needed him to hear this. You needed him to believe. “I'm not gonna hold you accountable for what happened on that highway, or for anything else you might have done in the past few decades. None of that is your fault. They used you. You couldn't even remember your own name, let alone understand what HYDRA was forcing you to do. You're also a victim here, Bucky.”

He shook his head.

Your heart shattered into tiny little pieces all over the ground.

You shifted on the ball of your knee, sighing as you felt exhaustion pulling at your limbs. 

“Steve would agree,” you said quietly.

Those three words managed to snatch Bucky's attention.

“Actually, Steve does agree.” You glimpsed towards the entrance where the Captain had disappeared through earlier, swallowing the lump that had lodged itself in your throat. “It's the reason why he's here. The reason why we all are. He is the literal embodiment of everything good in this world, Bucky. And if Steve Rogers—Captain America himself—looks at you and sees someone worth saving, someone who deserves a second chance despite all that happened, then that says everything I need to know about the kind of man you truly are.”

You waited for something to shift, for the contempt in his eyes to dissipate, for the strain in his shoulders to melt, but nothing happened. He continued to drown, making no moves to get himself out of the murky waters that were pulling him under.

“Everything that happened while you were under HYDRA’s control—the missions, the casualties—none of it is on you, Buck,” you pressed on. “The wound on my side? That wasn't your fault either. Hell, I was shooting at you, too! I didn't know who you were back then. You didn’t know me. You didn’t even know yourself. They made sure of that.”

You took a shuddering breath, physically readying yourself to voice the next conviction out loud.

“If someone has to carry the blame, it should be HYDRA,” you determined. “Not you, Bucky. Never you.”

The silence that followed was strangulating. You watched Bucky with heart in your throat, waiting for him to react, to do something or say something. Perhaps if he had cried, it would've been better. Because then, you might have been able to help, to offer him the solace of your arms, to teach him how he could peel back the guilt that was clinging to him like a second skin. 

Yet, Bucky just sat, still as a tombstone and quiet as a graveyard. 

The eerie calm before a catastrophic storm.

When he finally looked up, Bucky's eyes were a tempest—dark and turbulent, thundering with the repercussions of a hundred lifetimes he never asked to live.

“Maybe—” Bucky's voice quivered. He ran his flesh hand across his face and started over, “Maybe you're right.

Your chest staggered.

Before you could respond, Bucky's gaze dropped, teetering towards your side, as though he could see the ridges of skin underneath the cotton fabric of your shirt. The place where flesh had once split under a blade he hadn't even known he was holding.

On his knee, Bucky's fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out, to inspect the remnant of the wound with his own flesh and skin but didn't know how to trust himself enough to do so.

His jaw tightened.

“But it was still me, wasn't it?” Bucky's breathing stammered. The words came out choked, as though the truth tasted like rust on his tongue. “I was still the one holding the knife, Sugar.”

The nickname maimed you more than one could expect. Had Bucky said it with enough cynicism, maybe you would have chalked it up to bitterness and moved on. But he hadn't said it like that—he had said it with a devastating frailness, a frayed piece of another life bleeding through the cracks. It came from a version of him that had smiled at strangers and walked dates home in the rain, a boy from Brooklyn who probably said it with a charming grin and a flirtatious warmth.

Your heart broke for him all over again.

You ransacked your brain for something to say, to convince Bucky that he was wrong, but the sound of incoming footsteps stripped you of the chance, forcing you to quickly rise to your feet just in time for Sam and Steve to enter the room. Your conversation with Bucky was shoved to the backburner as the other two apprised you of your next step, both unaware of the tension stretching taut in the air, suspended between you and Bucky like a ghost no one else could see.

The next thing you knew, your life was unraveling like a house of cards in the span of one night. It felt like you blinked, and suddenly you were standing in the middle of a tarmac, staring down faces you used to sit with during breakfast and mission briefings, others who carried the weight of loyalty you could no longer afford.

The spider-like kid who loved to crawl on things was the first one you faced. He was nimble, all limbs and chatter, a fleck of innocence to testify to his lack of experience. You tuned out his nervous jokes and wide-eyed commentary as you focused on blocking each of his strikes, breathing through the ache in your ribs, willing your body to stay sharp.

But then, your instincts faltered.

The agonized sound wasn't loud, especially compared to the surrounding chaos that had befallen the airport. Your eyes flitted towards the man anyway, as if having a mind of their own, making you lose your footing for a fraction of second as your gaze landed on him from the distance.

Bucky.

The sight of him staggering back—blood blooming across his skin like a crimson tear—rustled an unknown weight within your chest. Natasha stood just a few paces away, her favorite knife in hand, the blade gleaming in the same shade of red running in rivulets down Bucky's cheek.

The moment of distraction was fleeting. Short. But it was the only opening your opponent needed to yank you off balance and send your back straight to the ground. 

“Sorry,” the Spidey kid huffed, straddling your legs, his grip surprisingly strong for someone built like a string bean in spandex. “Big fan, though. Seriously. Hey, crazy idea. Maybe after all of this, you can sign my—”

He never got the chance to finish his sentence.

With a drive of your elbow to his side, coupled with a shove of your knee to his chest, Spidey was now the one pinned to the ground—winded limbs and spayed webbing as he stared up at the clouds. You rose to your feet with a heaving chest, the ground trembling beneath your boots as you stole a moment to breathe.

You didn't even notice the light shifting in the sky.

Your reflexes awakened a second too late, stirring only when a dark shadow swept over your head. There was no time to run. Whatever protective measure you could whip up, whatever direction your feet could carry you in a matter of seconds, the end result was clear—you wouldn't be able to make it out of there unscathed.

Or at least, you should not have been able to make it out of there unscathed—but you did.

Because Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier, the man whose name was whispered between cautions of death and terror—had saved you.

He lunged from somewhere behind the smoke, arms wrapping around your frame before shoving you forward and down. The force of the blast rocked the ground as a small aircraft detonated a few yards away, radiating a heat so raging it licked at your back. Debris rained down all around you as Bucky’s body remained curled over yours, shielding you from the worst of it, lying like a fortress between you and the explosion's aftermath.

For a moment, all you could hear was your own ragged breathing. Your ears were still ringing when Bucky finally stood up, pulling you by your elbow to your slightly unsteady feet. He examined you from head to toe, his grounding touch remaining steadfast around your forearm, eliciting goosebumps.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, still in shock. Still breathless.

“Bucky.” Your fingers convulsed, moving up to clutch his jacket and stopping once you thought better of it. “You saved me.” 

He didn't answer at first, and when he did, his eyes evaded yours, jaw clenching as his gaze meandered somewhere distant. “It's the least I could do.”

Then, that same gaze moved, lowering until it settled on your side. You didn’t need him to spell it out to know exactly what he was thinking. The wound had been his doing once, delivered by a man with the same face but none of the same mercy. The shadow of a life that felt like his own but one he gravely wished to relinquish.

You felt the phantom sting of it then, not from the wound, but from the way Bucky was assessing it—like he was measuring his worth by the depth of that scar. Like saving you had been a down payment for a debt he could never repay.

Your mouth parted, already halfway to saying something, anything, that might severe the penance he had inflicted upon himself.

But before you could say a word, the world raged again, sending ripples of a faraway explosion that rattled the earth.

You swallowed hard, grounding yourself as you imparted, “We need to get to the jet.”

Bucky nodded once, his stature straightening as if his resolve had always been intact. The two of you broke into a sprint immediately, side by side, boots striking the tarmac in tandem as the smoke closed in all around you.

That was the first time Bucky Barnes saved your life.

And you knew, as you dashed across the airport grounds, that it wouldn't be the last.

After two years in Wakanda—two years since the disastrous battle on that infamous airport—you were finally bringing Bucky back home to New York.

Tony was not happy when he greeted the two of you at the compound, and you were even less thrilled to see him after everything that went down following his support for the Sokovia Accords—which, to your delight, had officially been nullified. Tony had promised he would play nice, and that included absolving Bucky—or at least, trying to—for all of the crimes that HYDRA forced him to do. It wasn't ideal, but it was a start; a show of good faith as Tony pledged to assist Bucky's recovery in every (financial) way possible.

Still, that didn't stop you from making sure that you walked in front of Bucky while the two of you were approaching the front gate, offering yourself as a human barrier should the philanthropist do anything untoward.

The first few weeks at the compound were dedicated towards ensuring a seamless transition for Bucky. From creating his daily schedule, vouching for a potential therapist, to showing him the nooks and crannies of his new home—you tackled every single task with purpose; convincing yourself that it was about structure, routine, and reintegration, but deep down, you knew better.

It was about keeping him close. Keeping him safe.

And maybe, that was exactly why you found yourself lashing out at Steve when he told you, a few weeks later, that Bucky would be sent on his first mission as an Avenger.

“This is bullshit,” you seethed, your fingers curling around the edge of the conference table in a death grip. “It's barely been two months and already they wanna send him back out there? After everything he's been through?”

The Captain sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don't like this anymore than you do—”

“Then stop it.”

“I tried!” Steve's eyebrows creased, his mouth pressed into a thin line. It was a rare sight to see Captain America this upset. “The higher-ups were asking questions, and his therapist already told them that Buck is ready. I tried talking to him about it, but he's adamant to go. There's nothing else I can do.”

“There's always something,” you retorted. “Maybe you just haven't tried hard enough.”

Despite how much your words stung, Steve forced himself to move past it. He knew they hadn't come from a place of malice. Instead, it had come from a place of affection—perhaps even love—a protectiveness he also shared towards a certain super soldier with a metal arm.

“Look,” Steve began, shifting in his seat, “have you ever thought that maybe this is what Bucky needs?”

Your head snapped up.

Steve took your silence as a cue to continue, “We know he hasn't forgiven himself yet. Not fully. And that's understandable, isn't it? Maybe what he needs, right now, is the chance to make it right. Maybe going on a mission—one he actually chooses to partake in, where he knows something good will come out of it—could be Bucky's way of making his amends.”

The Captain trailed off, letting his words linger above the tense atmosphere of the conference room.

You hated how much it made sense.

With a drop of your shoulders, you pinned your stare on the faraway wall, biting the inside of your cheek before mumbling, “Fine.”

Steve smiled, ready to wrap up the conversation once and for all when your voice interrupted him, “But I'm going.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” You got up from your own chair and sauntered towards the door, flicking a firm glance towards Steve that left no room for objection. “I'm not gonna stop you from assigning Bucky to that mission. But if he's coming, then I'm coming, too. And there's nothing you can do to stop me.”

In the end, Steve had relented, and what was once supposed to be a three-person crew's mission became four as you, Bucky, Sam, and Maria Hill took off towards Panama City.

Interference hailed the four of you upon arrival, running you into more hostiles than the initial intel had suggested. Despite your time away in Wakanda, your instincts didn’t waver. The rhythm came back effortlessly, muscle memory filling in the gaps left by your mind without a sliver of hesitation. 

However, between every swift kick and  precise strike, your focus frayed. Not from fear, but from a certain super soldier who was never out of your sight for long. Your gaze strayed to his silhouette again and again, making you stumble more times than you cared to admit, trying desperately to stand your ground in your own fight while keeping an eye on him all at once.

It was reckless.

And it was precisely why, as you realized too late, you ended up failing to notice the grenade.

“Watch out!”

Two strong arms—one flesh and one vibranium—shoved you out of the explosion's radius, a flying shrapnel missing your head by inches as your shoulder crashed against the ground. Bucky got thrown immediately on impact, sent over the edge of the skyscraper as the ground started to crack, fragment, and disintegrate into nothing.

“No!”

Horror erupted in your stomach at the building's cession to gravity. You scampered forward, dropping to your hands and knees to lean over the skirt where floor was supposed to be. Your relief escaped in a stammered breath when you spotted Bucky a couple of stories down, still alive, dangling by his flesh arm around the corner of a deteriorating girder.

A window pane launched into the air.

Bucky's agonized scream ripped through the chaos the moment it rammed against his left shoulder.

Something in your guts twisted at the sight of artificial axons peeking out of the ripped seams of his tactical jacket. Blood soaked through the torn fabric, staining the silver beneath in unforgiving red. 

“Bucky!” Your pulse hammered. “Don't move, I'm coming to get you!”

“Don't.” Bucky's voice was stern. Final. “You gotta get outta here before the whole thing collapse.”

“I'm not leaving here without you!”

Inside your earpiece, noises began to crackle. 

“Guys?” Maria's voice emerged. The sound of punches and clatter reverberated from her end of the line. “I think I need some help over here.”

“Go help Maria,” Bucky commanded.

“But you—”

“Sugar.” 

The nickname halted you in place. Bucky was smiling as he looked up at you, although you knew that it was nothing more than a facade. Any other person would have been fooled by his performance, but you could easily pinpoint the shadow of a grimace he was trying to conceal, the exhaustion crippling his body as he struggled to hold himself up at an angle that wouldn't put additional strain to the already splintering steel beam.

Blue eyes softened. “I'm gonna be fine. You should go.”

Your throat constricted.

You crouched frozen on the ledge, the roar of distant gunfire echoing through the shattered high-rise. Fifty stories below, parts of the building's skeleton scattered on the ground. Your hand twitched towards Bucky, wanting to reach out, desperate to haul him back into your arms, but the chasm between you felt impossibly wide.

Meanwhile, Maria's grunts and struggle continued to echo in your ears as she seemed to wrestle a few assailants at once. You knew you should go to her aid. You knew this wasn’t the time for hesitation.

And yet… Bucky.

His lips were still curled into that easy smile—the same one he shared with you during clandestine moments around the compound, because this side of Bucky Barnes was one he reserved specifically for you. His knuckles had gone white from supporting his entire weight, the beam creaking under the slightest sway of his body, jerking slightly. 

“I don’t—” Your voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I do,” he said gently, as if he weren't hanging by one arm over nothing but air. “You save her.”

You could barely breathe. 

The seconds were ticking—Maria was calling for help, and Bucky was slipping.

You weren’t enough to save both of them.

“Sam,” you gasped, pressing your hand to the comms. Static was the only response, and you prayed to the heavens above that wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he could listen to your plea. “You’ve gotta get to Bucky. Now. He’s gonna—I can’t—just… please.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that stretched longer than a lifetime.

Just when you began to think he wasn't going to answer, Sam's voice fizzled in, “On my way.” 

The comms fell silent again.

A violent wind tore through the air, hitting like a freight train.

The steel girder—the one remaining lifeline fastening Bucky to this world—buckled with a piercing screech.

In the blink of an eye, the girder snapped.

“BUCKY!”

A blur of silver and red swooped below him in the same breath, and before you could lunge forward to follow Bucky as he fell, Sam was there—arms locked securely around Bucky’s torso, wings flaring wide to steady the sudden addition of weight. Bucky’s head dropped against Sam’s shoulder, dazed but alive. Your whole limbs teetered towards the verge of liquefying as your lungs finally released the air you didn’t know you were holding.

“You okay, man?” Sam’s voice chirped through your earpiece. “Christ, what did they feed you in Wakanda?”

A sound escaped your chest—something between a strangled sob and a wry laugh.

Gathering yourself, you pressed another hand to the comms, rising to your feet and sprinting towards the server room as you announced, “Hang on tight, Maria. I'm on my way.”

By the time you and Maria went back to the safehouse over an hour later, Sam and Bucky were already there. Bucky was lying on the couch the moment you strode in, his metal arm detached and thrown almost haphazardly on the coffee table while Sam tinkered with Redwing on the kitchen counter.

From the bandage wrapped around Bucky's shoulder, you knew that the on-site medical android had taken a look at him already, but the anxiety in your mind still wasn't pacified. It dribbled all over the floor as you marched towards him, your body shaking partly from the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, but also from the anger and dread boiling in your blood.

“Why the hell did you do that?!”

Venom leaked from your voice the moment you approached the couch. Behind you, Sam and Maria fell silent, readying themselves for the imminent confrontation ahead. Bucky's face remained impassive as he rose to a seating position, a faint tug at the corner of his lips.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Don't fucking sweetheart me.”

Your chest rose and fell in a dizzying rythm, daggers flying from your eyes towards the man in front of you. The same one who had nearly, stupidly welcomed death into his arms due to some kind of foolish heroism embedded in his principles. The one who was currently looking at you with cerulean eyes so tender it almost made you forget that he was close to slipping from your fingers a mere hour earlier.

Bucky let out a sigh. “I'm okay.”

“Quit talking to me like I'm stupid, Bucky. We all can see your ripped metal arm on the table. Your bandaged shoulder.”

 “It's nothing.”

“It's not nothing!”

“It's nothing compared to what I've suffered before.”

An incredulous laugh tore from your larynx, sharp and sardonic. It was the only thing keeping the lump inside from choking you whole. “Just because you've survived worse doesn't mean you're fucking invincible, Buck! You could've died. You almost died. If Sam hadn't got there in time, you would've—”

The words wedged in your throat.

Your eyes fell shut as you expelled the images of Bucky dangling between life and death out of your mind. 

Gentle fingers encircled your wrist. You gasped at the sudden warmth surrounding you, opening your eyes to find that Bucky had tugged you closer to stand between his parted knees. Your palms automatically landed on the column of his neck, chest pounding at the unbearable softness shining out of Bucky’s eyes. 

This was new territory—Bucky had always treated closeness like something fleeting, something borrowed. His touches, his embraces, were often hesitant, as though affection was a luxury he couldn’t afford. But now, he held you like he had done it a thousand times before, like your body against his was the very thing chaining him to reality. His hand curled firmly around your waist, anchoring himself, grounding his entire existence to the certainty of your presence.

“Hey,” Bucky said, squeezing your side lightly. “I'm right here, Sugar. I'm alright.”

Your chest burned. “We almost lost you.”

“But you didn't.”

“But what if we had?!”

“Then you should take solace in the knowledge that I haven't gone in vain.”

Your fingers clenched around the edge of Bucky's shoulders, nails branding crescent moons into the skin. He didn't even flinch.

“You don't need to sacrifice your life for me, Bucky. I don't need that kind of thing on my conscience,” you spat.

“I wouldn't call it a sacrifice, sweetheart,” Bucky said firmly, resolutely. “If that's what it takes to keep you safe, then I'd gladly take the fall.”

Bucky's declaration propelled the tears you had been desperately trying to contain to the forefront. A strangled whimper shredded from your lips. You quickly tried to mask it with a scowl.

“That's the very definition of a ‘sacrifice’, you idiot.”

“Not in my book.” Bucky smiled. “Not when it's you.”

Before he could say another word, you removed the distance between you and threw yourself in his arms. The dam within you finally caved in, freeing the ragged sobs you had been trying to keep at bay. Your tears stained the collar of his undershirt, your arms locking around him tightly as though sheer willpower might fetter him to you, to life itself.

He staggered slightly under your weight, grunting from the pull on his wounded shoulder, but his hand—his only hand—immediately rose to your back, fingers splayed as they began tracing slow, calming patterns across your spine. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” you whispered hoarsely. “Don’t throw yourself in front of danger for me. I don't ever want to watch you fall like that again. I can’t—”

“I know,” Bucky murmured, pressing his cheek to your temple. “I know, Sugar.”

“Promise me,” you croaked out.

He stilled for a second. “I can't,” Bucky said breathlessly. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat, sweetheart. I’ll always choose to save you.”

A fresh wave of tears surged behind your eyes. Your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his undershirt. You hated him for that. 

And you loved him even more because of it.

From behind you, someone cleared their throat. 

“I hate to interrupt the Notting Hill shit we’ve got going on here,” Sam said, “but is anyone else starving or is it only the guy who just saved Barnes’ ass?”

The evening wind bit your cheeks the moment you stepped out of the bar. In a chorus of jovial shrieks and mischievous laughter, your friends from the Academy all bid each other goodbye—some heading straight home, some scuttering after the next round of drinks and fun, but all equally giddy and tipsy—stumbling on the curb and crashing against unassuming lamp posts.

“Sure you're not coming?” one of your friends asked.

“No, told you I've got an early morning tomorrow,” you slurred slightly, shaking your head twice when the face in front of you began to blur around the edges.

“Okay. Text me when you get home!”

You waved them off with a lopsided smile, turning on your heel and starting the slow trek back to the station. The pavement felt oddly slanted under your feet, and you blamed the tequila for the fifth time that night. The wind swept down the empty street, nipping at your exposed skin, sending discarded wrappers tumbling aimlessly along the sidewalk.

“Hey, Gorgeous! You need a ride?” a voice called out.

You didn’t bother looking. The city was full of idiots, and you weren’t in the mood for petty confrontations when your balance already wavered like a tightrope walker with a death wish.

You were in the midst of stifling a yawn when your foot unexpectedly hit a shallow crack in the pavement, pitching your body forward, arms flailing wildly before you caught yourself mid-fall.

The voice spoke again, this time laced with a grin that lit a match in the back of your mind, “Careful, sweetheart. Steve's gonna be pissed if you break an ankle before the mission tomorrow.”

Your eyes snapped up.

Leaning against a dark motorcycle across the street, like some kind of B-list actor playing a bad boy in a trashy movie franchise, was none other than Bucky Barnes. He looked way too good for someone who just watched you nearly eat concrete—leather jacket unzipped, gloved hand resting on the handlebar, and an easy smile tugging at his lips. 

Your face broke into an instantaneous grin.

“Bucky, what are you doing here?”

You skipped across the street without looking. The squeal of tires resonated in the air, blaring horns and flashing headlights as you registered too late the oncoming car speeding your way. You stumbled in your haste to escape the street, to save yourself before your crushed skull and its content became the next headline for tomorrow's 6 A.M. news.

But before gravity could make a fool out of yourself, Bucky’s arms were already around you. He caught your body with ease, keeping your face from planting onto the curb, his broad frame shielding you from the splash of puddle as the honking car zipped past. 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he muttered, his metal fingers squeezing your hip, “you lookin’ to give an old man a heart attack?”

“Sorry,” you offered sheepishly, willing the percussion in your chest to assuage. “Thanks for saving me.”

“I'd save you anytime and anywhere, Sugar.” Bucky smiled, his gaze soft and genuine despite the flirtatious nature of his words. “But it'd be nice if I didn't have to do it all the time.”

You feigned a gasp. “And here I thought you were my personal hero on call, Buck.”

The man in front of you laughed—a carefree thing with his head thrown back, ocean blue glinting under the paltry luminance of streetlights. You stepped out of his embrace with great reluctance, shivering slightly in the absence of Bucky's warmth.

The motion didn't escape Bucky's notice. “Did you not bring a jacket?”

“I did.” You wrapped yourself with your own arms, stroking the goosebumps away with your palms. “I lent it to my friend and I guess… well, I forgot to ask for it back.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Because everyone knows how kind, selfless, and generous I am?” You grinned.

Bucky didn't say anything in return. Instead, he made quick work shedding the jacket off his back, revealing the outline of muscles under the gorgeous cover of dusty blue henley. Your throat went dry, every nerve ending lighting up in fireworks when Bucky stepped forward, draping the leather garment around your shoulders.

“There you go. That would have to do for now,” he muttered.

His fingertips brushed your neck as he tugged the leather collar closer around you. The scent of coffee, mint, and something indistinguishably Bucky attacked your senses, stealing your breath and leaving the taste of longing on your tongue. He looked at you in that same infuriating tenderness that made your insides spume, reduced to tiny bubbles filled with hope and yearning.

“Thanks,” you breathed out once he withdrew. “By the way, how come you're here? I thought you had that mission with Nat today.”

“I did,” Bucky replied, burying his hands in his jeans’ pockets. 

Your forehead creased. “No way. Did you bail?”

“Are you crazy? Steve would have my ass.”

“Then…” 

“Came straight from the jet,” he said casually, the impish quirk of his lips giving him away before his words even landed.

“You what?” You gawked. “Are you serious? Did you even debrief with Steve before you went here?  Did you even go to the medbay? At all?”

“It was just recon.” He shrugged, far too nonchalant for your liking. “Nat can handle the debrief. She did all the sneaking around anyway, I barely lifted a finger.”

“That’s not the point.” You groaned, massaging the headache that had started gnawing at your temple. “Who cares if it was just recon, Bucky? The procedure says you're to go to the medbay after every mission. The rule is there for a reason. What if you were injured but you didn't even notice? What if you were exposed to a dangerous substance while you were on the field? It's incredibly reckless, stupid, and—”

Your words dissolved the moment his hands cupped your cheeks.

Bucky studied your countenance in silence, his eyes delicate, his thumbs gentle as they skimmed along your jaw. He smiled at you as if your soul was scribbled in a script only he could decipher. An intimate secret shared between the meager spaces the two of you occupied in this infinite universe.

Your breath hitched.

Everything around you tilted on its axis, the world dulling into a distant hum to make room for the cosmic threads tethering you both to each other. His eyes were tired as they locked onto yours, but behind the muted blue, something else shone through—something steadfast and searing, like an eternal flame trapped in the most secluded heights of the Himalayan range.

“I’m okay,” he said at last, voice low but certain. “I’m right here, and I’m okay.”

You didn't blink—you couldn't.

Your chest deflated in the aftermath of worry, the relief sweeping through you like a tide pulling back after a storm. Bucky withdrew, his hands leaving your face in a parting goodbye, and you had to fight the urge to yank him back in, to stay in the fragile moment that had cracked open between the two of you.

“‘Sides,” he drawled, a teasing glint replacing the ferocity in his eyes, “if I didn't pick you up, you'd probably end up passed out in a dumpster somewhere. Can't have you jeopardizing the mission like that, can I?”

You groaned and shoved his shoulder. “Ass.”

Bucky chuckled, rounding the bike before handing you a helmet. “C'mon, lightweight.”

You rolled your eyes, although the blooming smile on your face betrayed the faux irritation as you climbed onto the motorcycle. Bucky was warm in front of you, your arms finding purchase around his waist the second the engine roared to life, buildings and trees alike blurring past as the two of you sped through the streets of New York.

This time, you held Bucky a little tighter than usual, just in case he forgot how much it mattered that he made it home safely.

The pain was the first thing your brain registered.

Lights spilled through the all-encompassing darkness, rousing you awake, filling the gaps in your mind with an awareness of life. The ache traveled through your body in an unimaginable speed, a ravenous beast as it ate away your soul, and you could barely contain the pained whimper before it tumbled free out of your lips.

Something engulfed your hand.

Warmth.

“Sugar?”

You whimpered louder.

“Shit." There was a rustling by your side before the same voice sprouted again, “Hang on, sweetheart. I'll get the doctor.”

Time stumbled in and out of your grasp. You thought you could hear several voices conversing in the room not long after. One of them, unrecognizable in your ears but settled deeply within your chest, rose above all of them. It sounded desperate, broken, as if the person had attempted to barter with God using merely a mangled heart and a splintered spine.

“...please,” you caught him say, the end of a sentence blown by the breeze before you could curl your fingers around it.

“I understand, Barnes,” another voice spoke. “We'll take care of it. Just wait outside, will you?”

A pair of hands proceeded to roam over your body. You felt the pull of consciousness behind your eyelids, heaving you out of the void, an aimless ghost slipping violently back into flesh.

You gasped.

The world returned in a fragmented mosaic—white ceiling, antiseptic air, and a beeping monitor that echoed stubbornly beside your ear. Inside your body, a burning agony erupted. It sank into the deepest corners of your being, clutching around your lungs, turning you into nothing more than a wailing heap of muscles and bones.

“Hey, hey, easy now,” came a calm voice. 

The words arrived in the company of gentle hands, too cold for your liking, but they were a reprieve nonetheless. The face in front of you zoomed in and out of focus like moonlight dancing across shattered glass, the contours merging and sundering as they finally morphed into the features of a familiar friend. 

Dr. Helen Cho.

She pressed the back of her hand to your forehead before shining a penlight into your eyes. “Pupils reactive. That’s good. Welcome back.”

You blinked away the harsh light from your vision, wincing when the effort sent a jolt of pain through your neck and shoulder. Your lips parted in an attempt to speak, but your throat felt like it had been shoved with hot coals, shredding your voice into nothing more than a torn, fragile snivel.

“W-what… what happened?” you croaked out.

“You were shot,” Helen answered. “Do you remember?”

Just like that, the memory barreled into you like a sucker punch to the face.

Images of drab walls and ceilings, the sight of mold and moss co-existing with dead rodents’ remains filled your mind. The abandoned building once posed as the warehouse of an illegal bio-weaponry enterprise that had long ceased to operate. The Avengers’ presence on site was supposed to be a straightforward recon—gather the intel on the culpable syndicate, perhaps scour for names complicit in supplying the deadly goods in the first place—and it was implied as such on the case files given to the entire team.

No one could have predicted that the simple job would turn into an ambush.

Your mind began flipping through the pages of memory, recalling how it took you no time at all to neutralize the four agents sent your way. Under different circumstances, you might have felt offended by the measly number of hostiles assigned to you—had your thoughts, of course, not already been preoccupied with a certain super soldier. Still, any insolent disparagement your opponent once hurled at your combat abilities was indefinitely put on ice as you dashed across the site's west wing.

By the time you arrived, Bucky was already cornered.

Instinct, and something else akin to protectiveness, fueled your movements as you thundered into the room. Most of the assailants were already lying in stacks on the floor, the rest following suit with every deliberate strike you threw their way. Your chest rose and fell in erratic bursts, each breath scraping your throat as the last body hit the ground.

Across the room, Bucky rose from behind the makeshift fortress, aiming his gun before stopping dead in tracks. The corner of your mouth lifted when your gazes found each other.

“Hi, handsome. Miss me?”

Bucky let out a rough breath, his grip around the gun loosening. “Was wondering when you'd show up, sweetheart.”

He stood up and approached you in merely four strides, smiling so sweetly as though your presence in front of him had been God's own gift to mankind. You fought off a shudder and attempted nonchalance as your palm brushed the dust off his shoulder.

“Sorry, Sarge. You know I like to keep people on their toes.”

The grin on Bucky's face expanded. He bumped his shoulder to yours, the two of you heading for the exit as Bucky started requesting for extraction through his comms.

A split second was all it took for everything to go sideways.

You didn't know what compelled you to turn around for one last glance. Had you heard something? Felt something? Had the hairs on the back of your neck sensed the imminent danger before your brain could even begin processing it? 

It was impossible to say, but something dragged your gaze over your shoulder, an invisible hook yanking you back just in time to catch the glint of metal under the scanty light. One of the bodies on the ground, presumed dead, had begun to stir. His arm trembled as he lifted his gun from the blood-slick floor, the barrel rising with all of the inevitability of a verdict carved in stone.

Your breathing caught.

Everything in your body told you to run. To take shelter behind the wooden crate in the corner of the room, call out a warning, anything. But you knew exactly where that gun was aimed, where that bullet would go if you dared to move even an inch.

Straight into Bucky.

The whole world narrowed. What happened next wasn't a choice—it was a decision your body made under direct instructions of your heart, born not from years of training but from the gentle fondness you harbored for the man beside you. It commanded you to hold your ground, freezing your limbs, your chest pounding as though wishing to somehow intercept the bullet before it could write the ending you weren’t ready to read.

Then, the shot rang out.

Everything else had transpired in a blur. You remembered certain bits and pieces through the fog in your mind—the pain on your neck, the retaliation shot Bucky had fired from his gun, the look of pure terror you saw on his face as he held your crumbling body before it could shatter against the concrete ground.

The confession.

“Bucky.” His name fled your lips before you could even think about it.

Helen's gaze softened. “He's outside. He's been here the whole time. Never left your side since the surgery.”

You swallowed, throat thick with the weight of half-formed questions. “H-How long…?”

“Thirty-eight hours,” she replied. “The bullet missed your artery by millimeters. We almost lost you a couple of times. You were extremely lucky this time, Agent.”

Your eyes closed momentarily. When they opened again, your gaze found Helen with an unshakable purpose. “Could you please send him in?”

The doctor gave you a single nod, landing a reassuring pat on your knee before leaving the room silently.

Not long after, the door opened with a quiet hiss.

The sight of Bucky standing in the doorway smashed your heart into a million little pieces.

His hair was unkempt, sticking to different directions as if his fingers had run through them too many times to count. Even from the distance, you could still see how bloodshot his eyes were, how hollow and agonized they were under the harsh lighting of the room. He looked like a man who had outrun hell only to realize that it had made a home right inside his chest.

“Bucky,” you called out, slowly, gently.

His shoulders tensed at the sound of your voice.

Bucky's movement was tedious, as though it was painful for him to move, as though lifting his head required more strength than Atlas needed to carry the world on his shoulders. The moment his eyes met yours, something inside him cracked and splintered. 

“You're awake,” he said hoarsely.

“I am,” you replied, offering a soft, shaky smile. “I'm okay.”

Bucky didn't move.

He looked like he didn't even breathe.

It was as if an intangible weight had shackled itself around his ankles, stopping him in place. Bucky didn't try to fight it, to break himself out of the phantom hold he had been cast under. He just kept standing there, motionless, like he was afraid that if he came any closer, the fragile image of you in front of him—alive, breathing, and speaking—would vanish.

Your throat tightened.

“Buck,” you tried again, a tremor in your voice now, too. “Come here.”

His fingers twitched.

“Please.”

It was that single word that finally did it—the plea that fell onto him like a torrent on scorched earth.

He took one step, then another, erasing the distance between him and the bed with a slowness that might convince someone he was walking barefoot on shards of glass. You watched every inch of him draw nearer, his pain thick in the atmosphere of the room, heavier than the oxygen nesting in your lungs.

The hesitation returned when he reached your bedside, keeping him a good six inches away from you. He hovered in the space around the bed, uncertain, both of his hands clenching and unclenching like they wanted to hold you but were afraid you would completely dissipate like vapor under his touch.

You lifted your hand and reached out, tentatively, with the precision of someone trying to pet an easily-spooked cat. Eternity must have passed at least once or twice when your fingers finally brushed the inside of his wrist.

That was all it took.

The singular touch was all it took for Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier, the man with the power of a collapsing star, who had faced death and catastrophe greater than anybody else on earth could ever imagine—to entirely crumble under your palms.

A sound escaped him—something torn and guttural and not meant for human ears to hear. He fell to his knees beside the bed, clutching your hand like it was the only echo of mercy in a world that had offered him none. His head bowed against your stomach, shoulders shaking violently with the aggressive sobs he could no longer contain in his chest.

Your own tears spilled out of you in a tide stronger than the Pacific current, staining your cheeks as you brought your other hand to cradle the back of Bucky's head, threading your fingers through the short tendrils.

“I’m okay. I'm okay, Bucky, I'm fine,” you whispered, over and over, each word a balm against the searing agony inside his bloodstream. “I’m right here, darling. I'm okay now.”

“But you weren’t,” he choked, the sound of his anguish slicing your nerves deeper than the sharpest dagger ever could. “You weren’t, a-and God, I thought I lost you, sweetheart. I was holding you, tried to stop the blood—there was so much blood—and you just… you just went still. Was so cold and still and I couldn't—I didn't know what to do.”

“Bucky.” Your voice quivered. “I'm here, baby. You didn’t lose me.”

“I almost did.” 

His head rose, and your breath halted in your throat at the sight or red in Bucky’s eyes. He was not someone who cried often—perhaps it was the archaic 40s’ notion of masculinity that was still embedded in his system—and the only time you had seen him cry was back in Wakanda, when you and Ayo stood by him in the vulnerable moment that confirmed the severance of HYDRA's control over his soul.

Somehow, this Bucky—the one kneeling in front of you—looked even more shattered than the one in your memory.

“Your heart stopped, Sugar,” Bucky continued, the weight of his words pressing and twisting your ribs until you were nothing but a mire. “You weren’t breathing. So cold and stiff, and I… Shit—I didn't know if you'd make it. Had to do CPR the whole flight. Everyone told me to stop. They said y-you were gone. But I couldn't, Sugar. I just—I couldn't.”

“Bucky,” you whimpered. “Darling.”

“I thought I was too late,” he rasped, voice fracturing under the weight of a requiem still resonating in his chest. “I kept thinking if I'd been faster—if I’d stood closer—if I had just noticed sooner, then you… you would've…”

You cupped his face, forcing him to stop his self-torment and look up at you. To remind him that whatever horror still clawing at his being was no longer real, because you were fine, you were alive, and you were here with him. His cheeks were wet, flushed with the remnants of grief and an exhaustion that had been postponed for far too long. The pain in his eyes had dimmed the blue in his irises to gray.

“I'm fine now, Bucky,” you murmured, misty eyes and traces of salt on the tip of your tongue. “You did it. You saved me.”

“I shouldn't have had to,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to reject the truth. “You shouldn't have been in that situation in the first place. You should've been safe. I was supposed to protect you.”

“You did, Bucky. You did protect me.”

“Not enough.”

“Baby, look at me.” Your voice is firm, a lighthouse cutting through a war-born fog. Bucky's forehead furrowed as his eyes locked with yours, as if he still struggled to believe that the you in front of him weren't simply a mirage. “You brought me back, Buck. You didn’t lose me. I'm here because of you.”

His breath hitched.

His lips quivered.

You leaned down, pressing your forehead gently to his, ignoring the strain it caused to your wound because this—the man you held inside your palms, this tender moment you shared after everything the universe had put you through—was far more important than any pain you could ever feel.

“You didn't lose me,” you repeated.

There was silence in the next breath, a sacred one commonly heard in the space between lightning and thunder. You could feel his every exhale, shallow and staggered, like a beast coaxed out of fight but still bristling with a proliferate instinct.

After a stuttered heartbeat, his metal arm slithered around your waist, his flesh one wrapping around your hand again, tighter this time.

“Say it again,” he begged, barely audible. “Please.”

“You didn't lose me,” you uttered. “I'm here, I’m alive, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He crushed you against him then—still careful, still gentle—but underneath the heedfulness, his desperation bled through. Gripping you like you were the only thing that mattered in this vast universe, like he wanted to fold you into himself and keep you some place where danger and death could never lurk over you again.

You felt Bucky's lips on your skin, grazing along your shoulder, moving up the curve of your neck, your jaw, and your cheek. Worshipping you with prayers shaped as a thousand reverent kisses, moving like he was searching for the evidence that you were real, like he was memorizing a miracle while time was still ticking.

And when his mouth finally found yours, the press of his lips wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t greedy.

It was trembling.

He kissed you as if you were the divine being who granted him life, respiring your moans and gasps as if they were the instruments needed to mend his ruptured soul. Bucky tasted like every future you were always too scared to envision for yourself—the promise of companionship, affection, and happiness that had once been too surreal for your heart to believe in. But now, in this moment with him, they all suddenly became inevitable.

You kissed him back, slowly, cradling his face between your hands to hold together all of the fractured pieces that forged his being. Time slipped away in the hush where sorrow once lived, getting you lost in everything Bucky, until eventually, your lungs had to force you to part and come up for air.

“I love you,” Bucky confessed, holding onto your wrists to keep you tethered to him. To this moment. And to life itself.

Your thumb brushed the apple of his cheek, catching a silent tear, leaning in to steal another kiss from the corner of his mouth.

“I love you, too,” you whispered.

A sound between a sob and relief escaped him, and Bucky buried his face in the unwounded crook of your neck, breathing you in like he had been suffocating for days and had finally resurfaced for air. His arms stayed enveloped around you as he murmured praises against your skin—thanking the Gods for listening to his prayers, thanking the universe, thanking you. Paying reverence for the mercy that fate had bestowed over a mangled man such as himself.

You stayed like that for a long time. His weight against your side, his heartbeats slowly steadying beneath your touch. The monitors beeped gently beside you, grounding the two of you to reality, an anchor in the otherwise stagnant room. But in that moment, the only sound that mattered—the only one you cared about—was the soft inhale and exhale of your breaths, a proof of life, shared within the modest spaces that felt more freeing than a hummingbird flying over an open field.

Gradually, the room began to fade into silence.

And in the safety of Bucky's embrace, you had never appreciated the quiet more.

Taglist: @steph88x @athenabarnes @sugarmummystuff6 @wintercrows @jay-jaystevebuckyloki @spideysimpossiblegirl @vainillacookie @mazzaroni-cheese @killerwendigo @s-r-reads @nydubs @rafeskai @unpeellievable @thisismyacc11 @rimunagenius @buckygirls @buckyslove1917 @defn0tonyourleft @buhangini @infinitymitten @lemonhead456 @thescooponsof @buckytheloveofmylife95 @mizukiqr @littlegreenjellybean @p3nis-parker @shortlikerdj @onlyheluvsme @theschoolbasketcase @jjulesii @jvanilly @seaskysunrise @minminswag04 @dameronspector @buckybarnesfic @nameless-ken @marie-sworld @silverwolfeyes @idkitsem @waiting-so-long @redtabularasa @buckyinluv @ghostytoasty17 @moreadsfic @chlovocaine @mcira @personal-fanfic-storage @spookyreads @eternalsams @the-sunflower-room

[itsnesss]

𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | lee myung-gi (player 333) × fem!reader

summary | the night before entering the squid game, Myung-gi shares a passionate evening with his girlfriend, hiding the truth about his impending departure

warnings | angst, smut, explicit content, p in v, implied abandonment

word count | 1.2 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me thanks ᡣ𐭩

You are sitting on the bed, watching Myung-gi as he takes off his jacket and carefully places it on the back of the chair. He has that serious expression that has been accompanying him lately, as if he were carrying an invisible weight that he doesn't dare to share with you.

"Are you okay?" you ask, breaking the silence.

He pauses for a moment, as if considering lying to you, but finally nods.

"Yes. Just... I've been thinking about a lot of things".

"Like what?" you insist, searching for his gaze.

He approaches the bed and sits down beside you. His fingers brush against yours, and his touch makes you forget, even if just for a second, the worry that has been growing in your chest.

"In us. In what I want for you, for me".

You frown, feeling how vague words only feed your doubts.

"Why do you speak as if it were a farewell?"

"It's not". Her voice trembles slightly, and for the first time, you see a glimmer of something in her eyes: fear. He leans towards you, taking your face in his hands with a gentleness that contrasts with the intensity of his gaze.

"I just want you to know how much I love you.

You don't respond. Instead, you close your eyes when his lips meet yours, warm and urgent, as if he were trying to imprint this moment in his memory. His kiss is different this time, full of a passion that disarms you and a sadness you don't quite understand.

When his lips leave yours, you barely have time to breathe before he comes back for you, this time with more fervor. You lie back on the bed, feeling his hands glide over your body, each caress laden with a desire that seems intent on erasing any distance between you.

"I need you," he murmurs against your neck, his voice hoarse, vulnerable.

Your hands roam his back, clinging to him as if you feared he would vanish at any moment.

"I'm always here for you," you reply, not knowing that those words will be the ones he repeats to himself over and over in the days to come. You unbutton your blouse and take off his shirt, savoring the sensation of his skin against yours. You bring his lips to your chest, and he kisses them with an uncontrollable passion that makes you arch your back in search of more.

"I want to see you," you murmur, not caring if it sounds like a request, as if touch and passion weren't enough.

He looks up at you with a restrained smile.

"What do you want to see?".

"Everything. Everything about you." You look at him intently, noticing how his pupils dilate as he understands your words.

He nods, a brief gesture that does not hide the surprise in his eyes. His hands approach your skirt, and slowly and deliberately, he begins to move his hands up your thighs. Your fingers grip the sheets, trying to hold your breath as his fingers brush the edge of your underwear.

"Is this what you want?"

"No" you say, without breaking eye contact. "It's not enough".

"It's fine" he replies, as if he already knew the answer. He kisses your thighs and steps back to remove your skirt and thong. His gaze travels over every inch of your body, without noticing his own clothes and how they slip off your shoulders.

"Say it". He keeps his gaze on your curves. "If you don't, I won't be able to..."

"I want to see you". Your eyes stop at his belt, which is halfway down his left hip. All of you. "You just uttered the last word when his fingers begin to unfasten the belt buckles."

The sound of metal is the only music in the room. Myung-gi leans back to take off his pants, and your eyes widen when you see he is only wearing his gray underwear.

"Don't stop," you encourage him. "I want to see you".

His eyes look at you with the same passion with which they used to look at you all.

"Just say it again."

"I want to see you," you repeat. "All of you".

He caresses the bulge that protrudes from his pants. His fingers slide lightly over his erection, a caress that makes your thighs tense without you being able to help it. He seems to read your mind, because his fingers move to the waistband of his underwear to remove them.

"Whatever you want" he says, and you need nothing more to understand the meaning behind his words.

It's as if a part of him were granting you a great concession.

His cock is long and thick, protruding from his pelvis like an arrow. Myung-gi doesn't take long to caress it, holding it with his fingers with surprising gentleness and looking into your eyes with a mischievous glint in his gaze. He slides his thumb over her pink bud, as if it were a challenge for you.

"Is this how you like it?" he asks with a smirk, as he starts to move his hand so that his erection glistens with saliva and his own secretions.

"I like you" you respond, trying to remind yourself to keep your composure. "That's what I like".

You put a finger on her lips, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do.

He quickly takes it, sucking your finger provocatively. He sucks at an increasingly faster pace, and your nipples harden as you remember the times you've let him do the same with your breasts, surrounding your nipples with his lips and sucking them so hard it felt like your body was on the verge of orgasm without having any idea why.

"Remember this," he says as he releases your finger. Remember me.

"I would never forget you," you reply. Unless you want something else. You looked into his eyes, your heart racing. "Do you want anything else?".

"Just you. Just this.." He tilts his head back and kisses you, with a furious and desire-filled passion.

You slide your hand over his cock, stroking it from the tip to the balls and back up slowly but surely, as if you felt in control of his pleasure. He moans in your mouth, a sensation as thrilling as it is terrifying.

"Fuck..." whispers. "Fuck".

"Do you like it?" you ask, kissing him briefly. "Is this what you want?".

He nods, without stopping the caresses on your breasts. Your nipples harden more with his caresses, and you can't help but arch your back a little to feel his fingers better on your breasts.

"That's it... that's what..." It seems like I can barely speak. "That's perfect". He steps away from you for just a moment to remove your panties. His gaze stops at your legs and his eyes widen.

"Do you see it?" he says, showing you his fingers. "Do you see it? You have some kind of fluids in your panties".

"I see it," you respond, blushing a little. Don't worry about it.

"That excites me more," he says with a smile. "I love that you like it". He caresses your thighs with his hands, with a softness in his fingers that makes your breasts harden no matter how much you try to breathe. "Do you want me to caress you there?"

"Where?"you say, pretending not to understand. "Where do you want to touch me?" You also have your hands on his erection, and the sound of his moans makes you wish he could hold out longer.

"There". He caresses your legs, moving his fingers up, towards your panties, before stopping at your se "I want to put my fingers here, feel you wet... and hot".

"It's one of your favorite fantasies" you say, smiling a little. You don't need to ask about that. You caress it with a slow movement of your fingers, knowing that you want more than that for him, but not quite knowing what.

"Do you want more?" you ask him. "What do you really want from me?".

"Just... just you" he repeats, without stopping kissing you. "That's all I've ever wanted". His fingers press against your sex, moving down with an increasingly intense softness. "This is just for us".

"Yes," you nod, kissing him. "All of this is ours". You took her hand with yours and brought it to your sex. Her fingers need no further invitation to move up and enter you.

"Ah..." You sigh, feeling the pressure of his fingers inside you.

"Oh, Myung-gi..." You can't help but moan, you can't help but feel lost in his eyes and in his caresses.

"Is this what you like?" he asks me, with his fingers on your sex and his erection pressing against your thighs. "Is that what you like?"

"Yes" you respond, feeling the pleasure grow in your belly. "Oh my God...!" Your fingers seek his shoulders, clinging as if you couldn't bear to let him go.

He keeps caressing you, his fingers moving in an increasingly intense rhythm. Your sex throbs to the rhythm of his caresses, as if trying to tell him something you can't say out loud.

"Do you want anything else?" he murmurs into your neck, with his cock pressing against your sex. Do you want to feel me there?

"Yes" you respond, feeling the pleasure like a wave growing inside you. "Yes... yes..." Your sex closes around his fingers, as if trying to keep them there, to have his hand inside you forever. "Myung-gi!"

He pulls out of you a moment later, his fingers slippery and stained with your fluids.

"Remember me like this," he says, as if words were the only thing he could do. "Remember me here". He takes your sex firmly, without delicacy, and thrusts it into you with a deep caress.

"Myung-gi!" Your legs close around him, feeling his cock so hard against your walls. "Oh... oh my God...".

"Yes" he gasps, pulling out a little before thrusting back in, deeper. "Like this. That's it... just like that..." He kisses you a moment later, his cock moving inside you with a rhythm that soon brings you to the edge of pleasure. "That's right. Only you".

"Oh, Myung-gi" you repeat, feeling the orgasm as a growing wave that will soon make you explode.

"Only you. Just for you". Your nails dig into his back with the effort to keep the rhythm and endure his movements.

"Just..." You can no longer keep talking. His erection inside you makes the pleasure so intense that you can't do anything but feel, you can't do anything but feel it inside you, each caress like a flame igniting in your body.

"Myung-gi..." The waves of pleasure begin to take over your body, making your thighs tremble and your fingers dig into his skin. "... Myung-gi, don't stop..." Your walls close around his cock with the orgasm, feeling your fluids spill over his erection.

"Fuck," he says, quickening his movements. "Fuck... I can feel you..."

You can't respond to him. The orgasm has you as a prisoner, you can do nothing but feel yourself coming on his erection with a muffled scream.

"Myung-gi" you repeat, feeling his fingers on your sex.

Myung-gi pulls out of you a moment after your waves of pleasure pass. His cock is covered in your fluids, and his fingers are as sticky as his thighs.

"I love you," he says, with a voice full of emotion, as if it were his last words. I will always love you.

"I love you too," you respond, feeling something inside you break with their words. I love you too.

He has just spoken them when he lies down beside you, wrapping his arms around you as if he thinks you might escape at any moment. His fingers caress your breasts slowly, with a softness as if he were incapable of touching you any other way. Your eyes slowly close, leaving you deeply asleep in his arms.

The next morning, you wake up alone. There is a note in its place, written in her hurried handwriting:

"Forgive me." Everything I do is for us. I love you."

[kaleldobrev]

Taste

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader & Dean Winchester

Summary: Dean going down on you in the back of Baby

Word Count: 657

Warnings: Cursing (4x), Smut (Fingering & Oral — F Receiving)

Authors Note: Takes place during season one | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

The uncomfortableness of the backseat didn’t faze you, as having sex in this specific position was one you were accustomed to; even before picking up Sam from Stanford.

Late night make out sessions before quietly leaving the motel room to find solace in Baby had become routine for you and Dean, as neither one of you wanted to be the one responsible for waking up Sam; knowing that he would give an earful to both of you.

Your bare back slightly stuck to the leather as Dean started to trail kisses down your chest and abdomen, stopping just above the hem of your shorts. The sounds of your back lifting up from the leather caused Dean to stop what he was doing, slight concern crossing his face. “Want me to put the blanket or my jacket down?” He asked, his hands already going for the blanket on the floor.

“Please,” you replied; almost semi-peeling yourself up from the leather seat. You covered your chest with your arms, unsure of why you did so, as this wasn’t the first (nor would it be the last) time Dean had seen you naked.

Happy with the placement of the blanket, he gave you a quick peck on the lips before gently lying you back down onto the backseat — your back no longer sticking to the leather.

Dean went back to kissing your abdomen again, and then hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. You lifted your ass up a bit, just enough for him to remove your shorts — the look in his eyes was priceless when he realized you had nothing on underneath. “Expecting this were you?” He grinned, throwing your shorts onto the floor next to him.

Spreading your legs, you couldn’t help but grin. “Always,” you said, starting to run your fingertips up and down your thigh.

Without a second thought, he hooked your legs over his shoulders; his eyes level with your now exposed pussy. “Been wanting to do this all day,” he said, starting to kiss your inner thighs.

“Says the one who just gave me shit for going commando,” you grinned. You could feel his slightly stubbled smirk in your thighs, followed by him mumbling something you couldn’t quite make out.

His tongue made a long strip on your clit, and you let out a small moan at the contact. You too had been craving this all day. His tongue started slow, doing those intricate swirls he usually did so effortlessly with his tongue, that caused you to slightly squirm. His hand splayed on your stomach, trying to keep you from moving too much as he started to slowly fuck you with a combination of his fingers and tongue.

“Fuck,” you breathed out; feeling yourself starting to clench around him; a smirk returning on his lips. It didn’t take long for Dean to get you there, as he was a self proclaimed expert when it came to knowing exactly the right moves to get you to come not only quickly, but hard.

Your whole body shuddered, and your knees began to go weak. You were thankful for the support of his shoulders, as if you didn’t, you knew your whole body would have gone limp.

He continued to alternate between using his tongue and fingers as you rid out your orgasm; your pussy starting to get sensitive from the intense orgasm that your boyfriend had just provided you with.

Coming down from your high, he removed his fingers and tongue from you, and you slightly whined at the loss of him. "Always so fucking good," he said, sticking his fingers in his mouth, licking them clean.

As you propped yourself up on your semi-shakey elbows, he looked at you, slightly grinning, and you couldn't help but smirk in return. "What are you thinking about?" He asked.

"How it's my turn to taste you," you replied; a look of pure lust in his eyes.

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[kisskobii]

prove it pt. 2

pairing: shuri udaku x black!fem reader

contains: smut (18+), fluff

word count: 2.1k

vibes:

taglist: @inmyheadimobsessed @shurislover @phantomof-themcu @sapphicvqmpires @sapphicjunglefever @playhousedistee @thtgirlllmona @vixentheplanet @dejaonline @prettymrswright @prettypink-princesss

author's note: this is just pure filth. i had a fun time writing this lol. enjoy! :)

a shiver rippled through your body as your legs made contact with the breeze that swept through the night's sky. your fingers were intertwined with shuri’s as she lead you down the stairwell to the exit.

the familiar grip on your waist pulled you away from your thoughts as shuri stepped forward and placed her head in the crook of your neck.

“the view is spectacular but sthandwa, you know you're anemic.”

a chuckle fell from your lips as you playfully elbowed the woman behind you.

“i’m not even that cold! i haven't complained once tonight!” you protested.

that was a lie. you were cold the minute you walked into the club. the possibility of you ending the night shivering was inevitable yet you did not care. you wanted to be seen.

the distance between you and shuri was eating away at your confidence. you did not need shuri to be confident, but you did need her lust. her lust and desire for you had been absent for days prior to now. so, as your best friend suggested, you went out of your way to purchase a dress that showed more skin than you usually would feel comfortable wearing. the high rise slit was your favorite part of the dress—it showed just the right amount of thigh that you knew would make any woman feral. your breasts were on full display, in contrast with your arms.

peppered pecks turned into demanding kisses as shuri removed her hands from your hips, allowing them to cascade down your thighs, further examining what your dress failed to hide.

“when did you buy this?” she questioned.

her tongue was delicately circling your earlobe and you were certain she could feel each strand of hair that stood upon your neck.

you scoffed. “does it matter?”

with a sigh, shuri grabbed a handful of your ass.

“must you test me?”

your breath hitched as shuri’s grip hardened, her fingers digging into the plush of your skin with unspoken intent. the cold press of her rings against you became impossible to ignore. each one, etched with wakandan jewels and worn with quiet pride, imprinted a distinct heat where metal met flesh.

a rush of warmth flushed through your body—from the way her lips hovered at your ear, from the weight of her attention finally settling on you, wholly and unforgiving.

“i asked you a question,” she said lowly, her voice sending a tremor straight to your core.

you tried to answer, but the words dissolved into a quiet moan as her thumb brushed along the faint indent her rings left behind.

“shuri…” you swallowed, back arching into her. “s-stop, you’re gonna leave a mark.”

she pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, her gaze dark, unreadable, and hungry. a slow smirk spread across her lips. “apparently not one big enough, since you still feel inclined to leave the house dressed like this.”

without warning, her hand traced back up, lifting the hem of your dress further as her lips found your jaw, your neck, and then—just below your ear—she bit, hard enough to make you gasp.

“tell me,” she murmured against your skin, “is this what you wanted, sthandwa?”

as if on cue, a freshly waxed maybach pulled up, shining and silent like a promise.

she opened the door, her hand warm and firm at your back. the moment you slid into the buttery leather seats, the world outside ceased to matter. she joined you, hit a switch on the center console, and the partition rose—sealing the two of you off from the front.

no words. just the click of the divider. and then her voice, smooth as velvet.

“spread your legs.”

“shuri, wait—what about the driver—”

she just shrugged, already sinking to her knees between your thighs.

you froze. “shuri—”

but her hands were already parting your legs, sliding up your thighs like they belonged there. your panties were tugged aside with practiced ease, and before another thought could form, her mouth was on you.

her tongue was warm, slow at first, just enough to tease, then you felt it, the cool graze of her diamond grills catching your most sensitive spot, and your hips jumped in response.

“relax,” she murmured against your skin, the vibration making you shiver. “don’t fight it.”

you bit your lip hard as her fingers joined the rhythm, sliding into you with a patient thrust. she curled them just right—deep and slow and unrelenting—while her mouth never stopped moving.

“that’s it,” she whispered, breath hot as she licked again, lips closing around your clit with a sinful pull. “you’re already so close, aren’t you?”

you nodded, too exasperated to speak. your thighs trembled as she picked up the pace, her digits gliding in and out of you with slick, obscene precision.

“let it happen,” she said, tone low, controlled. “don’t hold back. i want to feel you fall apart on my fingers.”

you whimpered, head thrown back, hands tangled in the leather seat. the sound of your own wetness, the wet suction of her tongue, the steady pulse of her rings pressing into your skin—it was all too much.

“look at me,” she demanded.

your eyes opened, watery and dazed, and you met her gaze. her mouth glistened, eyes locked on yours like she wanted to consume every second of your unraveling.

“cum for me, now.”

her voice, her fingers, her mouth, it all crashed together and sent you spiraling. the orgasm ripped through you, sharp and blinding, your moan splitting the air. your thighs clamped around her head, and she didn’t stop—not until you were twitching, overstimulated, whining for her to slow down.

when she finally pulled back, you were a panting mess, your skin flushed and damp.

shuri wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. a smug smile tugged at her lips as she leaned back into the plush leather seat.

“you really let me do that… knowing he could hear us?”

your eyes widened, panic bubbling up.

“shuri, what?!”

she chuckled, leaned forward to kiss your trembling thigh.

“i soundproofed the back of the vehicle. i was expecting more of a challenge but it didn't take long at all.” of course she did.

“i’m not done,” she murmured, voice dark again, but softer this time—coated in guilt, in tenderness.

her fingers slid between your folds, dragging through your slick with a low hum of satisfaction.

“you never stop wanting me, do you?”

you shook your head as her fingers pushed into you slowly, curling deep, and you gasped into the crook of her neck.

“ride it,” she breathed. “ride my fingers, baby.”

you moaned at the words, rolling your hips down, the angle perfect, her fingers hitting a spot that made your mouth fall open. you braced your hands on her shoulders as you moved, grinding, gasping, chasing something more.

“that’s it,” she murmured, voice thick. “take what you need.”

you started slow, letting her fill you deep, letting her thumb circle your clit in lazy, patient strokes. but it wasn’t enough. not when she was looking at you like that. not when her eyes said i’m sorry before her mouth ever did.

so you rode her fingers harder, the slick sound of you echoing in the backseat. your dress was bunched at your waist, her free hand squeezing your ass, guiding your rhythm with firm, steady control.

“you feel that?” she asked, voice right against your ear.

“that’s me, all of me."

your head fell to her shoulder as your pace stuttered.

“don’t hold back,” she whispered. “cum for me again. make a mess on my hand.”

your body obeyed before your brain could, your thighs shook, and she held you steady as you fell apart in her lap.

but she didn’t stop.

you whined, nails digging into her shoulders as her fingers kept moving, slower now, but just as deep.

“sh-shuri,” you gasped.

her fingers stayed inside, dragging against the spot that made your back arch. her thumb was still ghosting over your clit, drawing out every last tremor from your shaking body.

and through it all, her voice stayed close. soft. raw.

“i’m sorry, baby.”

you clenched around her fingers at the sound of her voice.

“i’ve been buried in work, in tech. in trying to make shit perfect.”

she kissed your temple.

“but what’s the point if i’m losing you in the process?”

you whimpered again, overwhelmed by the pleasure, by the weight of her words, by the way her fingers were still coaxing little aftershocks from you while her mouth soothed every inch of your skin.

“you didn’t lose me,” you whispered. “and you never will.”

her hand stilled then, fingers still deep inside of you. her eyes locked on yours.

she slowly eased her fingers out, lifting them between you, slick and shining in the dim light. she brought them to her mouth, never breaking eye contact as she sucked each one clean. you exhaled shakily, heart pounding.

the soft purr of the engine was the only sound between the two of you now. shuri sat back, legs spread slightly, as she watched you recover with quiet satisfaction. her lips glistened, her chest lifted calmly, and her fingers idly played with the rings that had just been inside of you.

knees hitting the floor between her thighs, palms resting gently on her knees, you looked up at her, eyes wide, lips still parted, body still flushed with heat. shuri raised an eyebrow.

“what are you doing?” she asked, her voice cautious.

you didn’t answer. you leaned in, pressing your cheek to her thigh, lips ghosting over the fabric of her pants. your fingers moved with purpose, toying with her belt.

her breath caught just slightly.

“you don’t have to,” she said, voice firmer now.

“tonight was for you.”

you looked up, eyes glassy, pupils wide with want. “please,” you whispered. “i need to taste you. i need to feel you on my tongue.”

shuri stared, unreadable for a moment. then your hands tugged the belt loose, and you leaned in further, resting your head on her lap, eyes still pleading.

“i wore the dress for you,” you confessed, voice breaking as your fingers moved to undo her fly. “i just… i missed you. i missed this. i missed your pussy, shuri. i think about it all the time. i needed you to want me again.”

a breath shuddered from her chest. she grabbed your chin with one hand, tilting your head up.

“don’t say that,” she murmured. “i always wanted you. i’ve just been—”

you kissed the inside of her thigh, slow and soft.

shuri cursed under her breath. “fuck… okay.”

she leaned back against the seat, shoving her briefs down and pulled you forward by your throat until your face was right where she wanted you. her thighs framed you, warm and smooth and trembling just slightly.

“hold still,” she ordered, then placed one hand on your head and sank down onto your mouth.

her taste hit you instantly, just as addictive as you remembered, and you moaned against her, tongue flattening as she rolled her hips forward, guiding the pace. she was already wet, already aching for release, and now she was letting go.

“just like that,” she gasped, her grip tightening in your hair. “you always know exactly how to—shit.”

you moaned again, sucking her clit just right, and her hips bucked in response. she grinded against you with reckless rhythm. your face was slick with her arousal as your tongue worked desperately to match the speed she needed.

“you missed this?” she panted, voice strained.

“missed having me ride your face like this?”

you hummed against her, eyes closed, hands holding onto her thighs like you might fall apart all over again.

“then take all of it,” she growled. “don’t stop. don’t—fuck—don’t stop.”

her breathing hitched, thighs beginning to shake as she lost her rhythm, grinding harder, riding your face like she needed it—like she’d been starving.

when she came, it was loud and long, her whole body trembling, hips stuttering as she let wave after wave crash through her. your tongue never stopped though, even as she whimpered, even as her grip on your hair tightened like a lifeline.

she slumped forward after, chest heaving, hand still resting in your curls as she caught her breath.

after a few silent seconds, she looked down at your flushed cheek, your wet chin, admiring how soft your eyes were.

“damn,” she whispered, voice rough. “you really meant it.”

you nodded, lips pressing softly to her thigh.

she tucked a damp curl behind your ear. “i’m sorry again,” she whispered softly. “for not being around. for making you feel like you had to prove something. i’ve just been in my head… too much. but you, you’re everything, sthandwa. you're my everything.”

you leaned up into her touch, resting your head on her thigh once more. “then be here now,” you murmured.

“i am,” she promised, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “i’m not going anywhere.”

[sunarinscat]

(s/o with sensory overload)

“Waves”.

He was the first to notice.

You have always struggled with sensory overload. It’s noise, lights, texture, temperature, movement in your line of sight… It just builds up and you can’t help but break down. It’s embarrassing honestly. You aren’t even sad but you’re sobbing and heaving for air. What? Because some silly flashing lights were too bright for you? You hide away in a corner or a bathroom and wait for the waves of panic to wash away. Then you clean yourself up and face the world again. Nobody was ever any the wiser.

He noticed. He saw when your breath began to quicken. You stopped making eye contact with people and glued your gaze to the floor. He tipped his head to the side as your trembling hands grasped the nearest surface. You slipped outside into the cold night air and he followed.

As you slumped against the wall and let the tears wrack your body you heard the door creak. Shoes scuffled against the pavement and you hid your face in your arms, away from prying eyes.

“Hey baby, are you doing alright?”

He slumped down beside you, leaving a gap between your bodies.

You tried to keep your voice even as you spoke but it cracked and trembled.

“Yea-h I’m ju-ust P-peachy!”

You hiccuped.

“Do you need hug?”

“N-no!”

His hands which were reaching to comfort you returned to his sides.

“No, it’s just a lot righ-ght now I can’t h-handle anyone touching me.”

Oh. He was starting to understand.

“What can I do sweet heart?”

You swallowed hard and took a breath, removing your hands from your tear stained face. You offered him a small smile as a tear slid down your chin.

“We could just talk quietly.. it helps distract me sometimes.”

He grinned back.

“Okay, okay. Eyes on me.”

He pointed to his eyes.

“I want you focused right here.”

You turned your body to face him and he did the same, sitting cross legged.

“How’s your day been? Tell me your favorite and your least favorite thing that happened today.”

And you sat like that for fifteen minutes. The tears receded and the sobs turned into soft laughter. When you pulled yourself up from the concrete you grasped his hand. You turned your eyes to the floor again, this time bashfully.

“Hey can I have that hug now?”

It was barely a whisper.

He turned around and wrapped his arms around you. He just held you. Your body relaxed and you let out a sigh. If you ever had a home it was this.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me honey. I love you. I will always be here, whatever you need.”

Sugawara Koushi, Tetsurou Kuroo, Hajime Iwaxumi ,Keiji Akashi, Osamu Miya, Daichi sawamura, Eijiro kirishima, Shoto todoroki, Albedo, Diluc, Al Haithem, Kazuha

author’s note: as someone who struggles with these issues I hope this made you feel seen. I haven’t been on this blog in awhile but I am back to give it a little TLC, !Friendly reminder that my asks are open! Dont be shy to send something my way, I want to hear every detail..

[erinwantstowrite]

Hello! I left this as a comment on the ao3 story in question (Leap of Faith by you and alighterwood) but I figured I'd send it on tumblr too just in case you don't check your comments over there.

I recently found out someone reuploaded one of my fics without permission or credit from ao3 to fanfiction.net and noticed their whole profile is full of other reuploads I can only assume they didn't ask for permission to reupload either and unfortunately Leap of Faith is one of those :/

I had to Google search chunks of the writing to track down where the fic originally came from bc this user intentionally changes titles (in this case, removing the spaces as well as the A from leap, leaving it as lepoffaith) and does not include the original author's name on their reupload. Here's the link to the reupload: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/14352736/1/lepoffaith

I've left reviews on the reupload of my own fic a few times asking them to take it down to no avail, but I figure maybe if more authors also ask them then they'll have to do it.

Mentioned this in the ao3 comment I left too, but if you don't feel comfortable clicking a link from some rando in ur ask box just shoot me a DM and I'll send you screenshots of the reupload!

alright so that's just GREATTTT isn't it?? thank you for letting us know! truly the amount of fics they have reuploaded is insane. i went ahead and sent an email to fanfic.net's support letting them know the situation. hopefully they do something about it soon. the idea that they do this for text to speech is honestly ridiculous (as said in their bio).

so... to anyone who is looking for a text to speech app to listen to LoF: there is a free app called "Evie" that I know of for samsung phones. you can find it on google play. there are also other apps that let you do this (make sure not to use AI!!). i'm sure you can find one. uploading fics onto another website is not the way to go and is super disrespectful

just a reminder to everyone: i ONLY post LoF on ao3. if you see it on another website, it is not me. DO NOT go harass anyone. just help get it taken down if you spot it by contacting the website and letting me know. this goes for other fics as well! fic authors are doing this for free, and stealing content is never okay.

this also goes for if you're reading ao3 on an app... there is no app for ao3. you should not be getting ads on ao3. it is a website. free yourself.

[f1crecs]

Fic Rec List - The Team's Favourite Fics

meet the new team and read their favourite fics!

if your fic is on this list and you don’t want it to be, please let us know and we will remove it immediately, no questions asked. we have contacted most of the authors on this list, but sometimes people fall through the gaps - just pop us a message🤍

have a pairing you want us to do next? head to the inbox and let us know!

don’t forget to give the authors featured on this list some love in the form of kudos, bookmarks, and comments!

Thank you all so much for sharing our help needed post! I am so thrilled to say we are up to a full new team. A team with a diverse set of beloved ships and tropes and favourite pairings and teams. It's going to be fun!

Let's get this show on the road!

Gen (Mark/Sebastian, Charles & Sebastian)

The Road to Parenthood by @beensinning | Not Rated | 283k

@ashzerog19's favourite fic

23-year-old Red Bull driver Sebastian Vettel adopts a young Charles

This fic is the perfect mix of a lot of tropes that I like like found family, fluff, hurt/comfort and kid fics. It's an emotional ride but that is oh so enjoyable. The way the characters are written and real events are rearranged to fit this fictional timeline is just so thoughtful and cohesive, it's incredibly good!

Alex/George

nothing but teeth by @janinaduszejko | E | 25k

@wunderlichkind's favourite fic

Alex reveals he‘s done bits with guys before. George is of course pining for him horribly but doesn‘t realize it yet. He keeps obsessing over it and then essentially asks alex to _show him_ and it‘s just very repressed and very very good!

wow this is simultaneously a great and an impossibly hard way to start into this discord! there are so many fics incredibly dear to me in the f1 fandom 😅 but going by my most frequent reread i‘ll nominate this amazing fic.

Carlos/Oscar

life in a hologram by @lealu | E | 56.5k (wip)

@killjoythereader's favourite fic

Carlos is a dependable field agent. Oscar is the unnervingly calm new recruit. Posing as fiancés at a billionaire’s wellness retreat wasn’t on Carlos’ bingo card for the year, but missing persons don’t investigate themselves.

here’s my rec! i know WIPs aren’t for everyone but this fic is well worth the wait. it’s suspenseful, sexy, and a true slow burn. i keep wanting to unravel the mystery, but i also don’t want the story to end.

Happy Death Race by @powerful-owl | E | 56k

@lydia-petze's favourite fic

Oscar is in a time loop and Carlos won't stop dying.

Time loop fic can be wonderful for distilling what is most important to a character. Oscar's personality is pulled back layer by layer as he strives desperately to keep Carlos alive loop after loop, only to fail over and over. Carlos himself is written perfectly as the good natured, goofy yet wise weirdo he presents himself as on camera. The story is structured intricately, layering and building and calling back on itself as the loops build. It's also unexpectedly hilarious for a story about one character who dies a lot and another who is being actively traumatized by it. It's not an outright comedy by any means, but the lighter moments keep the darker themes from ever getting too heavy to read.

His mum picks up his feet, sits, and puts them back down in her lap. Oscar kicks at her a little. “Rejection is never easy, love.”Oscar cranes his neck to glower back at her. “What?” “I’ve had my heart broken by heaps of men who looked like Carlos Sainz.” Oscar yearns for a camera to stare directly into. “I wasn’t rejected, oh my god. But thanks for the vote of confidence, mum.” “You haven’t told him?”Oscar sits fully up. “How are our only options here rejection or silence?” “Because if things were going great, you wouldn’t be here! And have you seen that man? He looks like a fuck up in the dude factory, like they accidentally set the handsomeness threshold too high. He’s right on the edge of something the human brain can’t comprehend, like that Sandra Bullock movie with the blindfolds—” “Oh my god.” “You’re a smoke show, love—” “Never say that again.” “But that man looks like he’s exclusively dating nepo baby boob models.” “What are boob models?” ‘The people he dates!”

Charles/Pierre

with strong hearts full, our souls unite by @hourcat | M | 12.6k |

@boxboxbrioche's favourite fic

Charles is an artist, Pierre is his best friend, and there is a Green Lantern who keeps on popping up in their life.

I first read this fic when it was published - over two years ago(!!!!!) It is a masterpiece of its genre. Secret identities, danger and baddies, and conflicting crushes that turn out to not be so conflicting afterwards. The author's ability to write realistic and fun dialogue is second to none, and the story is just so beautifully written. The reason I chose it as my number one favourite fic-apart from the fact that it's a MASTERPIECE- is that I find myself thinking about it so often, even two years later. When I'm at my local art store, when I'm doing chores, when I'm on long walks. It comes back to me, and I read it all over again, and I love it just as much as I did the first time. It has stayed with me, which I think is the mark of a truly fantastic piece of fanfiction. ❤️

Lance/George

Kamikaze by @pitconfirm | George/Lance | E | 12.4K

@lil-shiro's favourite fic

George has hated Lance for as long as he's known him, and Lance has never seemed to care. However, it turns out there are other ways to get a reaction. Or: What happens when you start hooking up with the guy you hate. Set in 2023 with great characterization of Lance and George. If you want to get into Glance, this is THE fic you have to read.

Absentmindedly, he pauses to massage Lance’s scalp, causing the boy to hum in satisfaction. He’s quite sweet when he’s not talking. “You know I’d let you fuck me, right?” Lance says, casually breaking the silence.

Lando/Oscar

you're burning up, i'm cooling down by @foggieststars | E | 12.3k

@maaxverstappen's favourite fic

Lando and Oscar have an understanding, Oscar doesn't get to come until Lando decides he's been good enough.

It’s a little known fact about me that this is my fav fic ever (I mean, I stalked Wren trying to find her socials to gush about it to her). It’s obviously hot as hell but it’s also so tender and the characterisation is unlike any other. This landoscar will forever be the blueprint of all landoscar to me and all 3 parts are fabbbb <3

He teases Oscar about it, sometimes. How badly he wants it - to win, to be good. Lando asks him if he ever gets hard in the car out of some twisted desperation to please people. He loves thinking about Oscar’s muscled thighs clenching together in the car, vibrations running through his whole body, sparking little points of contact. So Lando lets the little game drag on into the race build-up sometimes, when Oscar is okay with it.

i know this little chapel on the boulevard by @mathsgeek314 | T | 19.8k

@muffininthepitlane's favourite fic

A wedding planner and a florist fall in love while working on a bunch of weddings together, featuring mutual pinning, a lot of it. And cameos from other drivers as they’re the ones who get married and need a wedding planner.

“What did you bring me?” “I brought you, um,” Lando pauses to peer into the bags, “A BLT and a chocolate muffin.” “A BLT?” “Well there was no way I was buying you your usual – if you want a bagel with frickin’ salmon on it, you can buy that yourself.” Oscar lets out a quiet laugh. “And the muffin?” he asks. Lando lights up. “Yeah! You always say they look really nice but you keep talking yourself out of buying one, so I bought one for you. Can’t change your mind if I’ve already bought it.” Oscar can’t stop himself from smiling at how proud Lando looks of himself. “What?” he whines, “What are you laughing at?” “Nothing, don’t worry. Thank you for bringing me food, mate.” Oscar ends up getting lost in his work for another twenty minutes after Lando leaves before his stomach grumbles again and he remembers he does still need to eat. He pulls out the chocolate muffin and smiles at it before opening the other bag. He blinks. Inside the bag is a salmon and cream cheese bagel.

Max/Oscar

Eat Them Alive by @drivestraight | E | 57k

@kingkestrel favourite fic

Oscar lost Lando a championship and left McLaren. There was still a year in between. Or, Oscar ascends to RedBull racing godhood and smites down everyone in his path.

To me, this fic is the pinnacle. I keep thinking about this work after the fact, specifically Oscar's quiet to others but encompassing to himself ruthlessness and how his whole relationship with Lando is based on the fact that he thinks he's the same.

I keep seeing interviews from people Oscar works with and how they describe him as internally hungry but outwardly calm and I keep thinking back to this fic. About how much drive and fire burns inside that only people the same as him notice… Max notices.

He puts his hand on the nose and he won’t find out until he’s doing his interviews in the pen, that h9e was covering the 8 in the 81. People think it was a statement. To Oscar, it was an act of reverence.

[ranikyani]

The Richmond Archives 🏛️ III [S-Z#]

A collection of fics centered around Terry Richmond as a main character, exploring different stories, relationships, and adventures.

💌: Make sure you read warnings before engaging + Take care of yourself while reading, mwah💋

🏡: Return to Daddy's Library or…

💬 Readers Remember: Supporting our writers goes beyond just liking a post! Yes, likes are cool but comments/reblogs and kudos can be incredibly meaningful and make a huge difference! Many talented writers feel discouraged by the lack of engagement and recent foolishness, so let's uplift them by showing appreciation for their work. Don't make our favs beg for a crumb of attention!

✍🏾 Writers, this is a work in progress... but if anything needs to be changed or removed immediately pls lmk.

Status: Completed 🏁 - Ongoing📝 - Hiatus ⏸️

Length: Drabble✨ - OneShot 🎯 - Series 📚 - MiniSeries ⏳ - Universe 🌎

Note: Summary will be provided for stories without one included. If anything should be changed pls lmk. I haven't read 1/2 these fics yet… will continue to update summaries/emojis as I make progress.

S

Said I Wouldn't 🏁⏳

Summary: Babysitting for Terry had its perks. You were able to see his gorgeous ass every night before heading off to your own house next door. And because he went to the gym on Wednesday nights, you had extra time to explore his room and live in your delusions. But when Terry catches you, you are unprepared for what comes next.

Author: @megamindsecretlair

Santa's Little Tease 🎯

Summary: When Janae catches Terry admiring his holiday handiwork, she decides it’s time for a reward he’ll never forget.

Author: @planetblaque

Savage 🎯

Summary: Valentine’s Day was the one day a year where Terry gave you what you yearned for. To be in control. You tease Terry all day, getting him worked up with the knowledge that he couldn’t touch you yet. That he wasn’t allowed to touch your body until you said so. Not until he surrendered to you. 

Author: @megamindsecretlair

Save Me 🎯

Summary: After years of no contact, Terry shows up on your doorstep in need of help.

Author: @planetblaque

Secret Admirer 🎯

Summary: Terry has been obsessed with the reader for 3 years and he finally makes his introduction.

Author: @nayaxwrites

Semper Fidelis ⏸️📚

Summary: Dre something something

Author: @ranikyani

Sexual Healing 🎯

Summary: Reader is depressed and Terry fucks her out of it.

Author: @writingsbytee

The Show Goes On 📝📚

Summary: Stone (Aaron Pierre) x Tirian Brenae

Author: @zillasvilla

Sins of the Flesh 🏁⏳

Summary: Terry Richmond x Black!OC [Riley]

Author: @brattyfics

Slangin' Tail 🎯

Summary: ...

Author: @motheroffeline

Slow Dance 🎯

Summary: ...

Author: @hotgrlcece

Slow Kissing ✨

Summary: What would slow kissing be like with Terry?

Author: @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

A Small Exchange ✨

Summary: In which Terry hopes for the best

Author: @slippinninque

Snug! ✨

Summary: In which Terry wasn't ready

Author: @slippinninque

Something Seasonal 📝📚

Summary: Not every princess lived in a castle. Terry learns this when he meets what he considers a celestial being in the dirtiest of places. Too enamored, he forgets about all his spoken promises to another.

Author: @simplyzeeka

Southern Triad ⏳

Summary: Summer in the South called for people from every region of the States to come down and reunite with their loved ones. It called for family reunions during the day and enjoying fried sweets and rides at the fair during the night. Iris McKay returns to her hometown with her boyfriend, Terry, and surprisingly her old fling, Bakari, returns as well after years overseas. Iris learns that Bakari and Terry have a history of their own; them being friends during their military days. This reconciliation between these three proposes an idea that Iris has always fantasized about and believes that it’ll soon come to fruition.

Author: @hotgrlcece

Spinning the Block 📝📚

Summary: What happens when the man you once arrested returns to your troubled town seeking you out for closure after the death of his cousin? That's where Officer Jessica "Jess" Sims finds herself after her past tumultuous run-in with Terry Richmond catches up to her.

Author: @uzumaki-rebellion

Stale 🎯

Summary: in which terry, despite never being one for birthdays, realizes maybe a push was all he needed?

Author: @wonderlustwrites

Stay A While 🌎 (bigger than a ongoing series, this is a ENTIRE universe and I LIVE for finishing all the parts when I get the time)

Summary: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Author: @kumkaniudaku

The Story of Us ⏳

Summary: ...

Author: @hotgrlcece

The Strangers 🏁⏳

Summary: Home. A place that is your sanctuary. Somewhere you can escape from all the problems of the outside world. A place that provides you with a feeling of warmth and a sense of safety. What happens when it isn’t?

Author: @dxddykenn

Study Buddy 🎯

Summary: Studying with Terry

Author: @skvrpion

Surprise 🎯

Summary: You and Terry have been broken up for 3 months. You’re injured in an accident and the hospital calls Terry to notify him and… surprise

Author: @writingsbytee

Swampbound 📝📚

Summary: Set against the eerie backdrop of the Florida swamps in the 1980s, this supernatural tale follows Adla Bennett, a woman navigating life after her father’s death. When she discovers a wounded creature resembling a wolf on her porch, she shelters it for the night, only to learn the creature is a shapeshifter named Terry Richmond. He enlists her help in locating his missing cousin, Mike, intertwining their fates in unexpected ways.

Author: @brattyfics

Sweet Confections 🎯

Summary: In which Terry finds his woman in every confection.

Author: @simplyzeeka

Sweet Dreams 🎯

Summary: Terry has night terrors, luckily he's found you and his love for you keeps him grounded

Author: @sweettea-and-honeybutter

Sweet Escape 📝📚

Summary: You are on top of the world as one of the world’s most popular R&B singers. But behind the glitz and glam, you were unmoored, lonely, and aching for something you couldn’t put a name to. With freakish threats escalating, you turn to your stoic bodyguard, Terry, in hopes that you’ll finally feel safe and like you belong.

Author: @megamindsecretlair

T

Take You There ⏸️📚

Summary: Terry gets inspired in so many ways by a tattoo artist. 

Author: @sweettea-and-honeybutter

Taken Care Of 🎯

Summary: in which Terry wants to watch you and his homeboy.

Author: @theblacklewinsky

A Taste of Fire 🎯

Summary: Mica had a curious request of her husband. He denied her numerous times and with Terry, she learned to take what she wanted.

Author: @keyaho

A Tattoo and the Bloodsucker Blues 📝📚

Summary: Celeste thought the tattoo on Terry Richmond's arm marked him as one of those Hoteps or Nation of Islam brothas that hawked bean pies on the corner with the Final Call. But little did she know it meant more than that. That's why she has to track him down and kill him… before the baby in her belly can turn into his kind.

Author: @uzumaki-rebellion

Testing Testing ✨

Summary: In which Terry plays a very stupid game.

Author: @slippinninque

Three's A Crowd Two. 🎯

Summary: You were sent to a cozy cabin Christmas retreat in the secluded Rocky Mountains picked by two of your wealthy bosses Terry and Kelvin, for a much-needed break from the hustle and bustle of your corporate lives.

Author: @notapradagurl7

Tick 🎯

Summary: It's Terry birthday! While he is out with his homeboys, you decide to send him a video you made, but what happens when the reaction you get is something you never expected?

Author: @dabratzchronicles

Ties That Bind 🏁⏳

Summary: You and Terry Richmond, the mysterious billionaire with a magnetic presence and a dark edge, are bound by an arranged marriage that neither of you anticipated.

Author: @notapradagurl7

To Lose You ✨

Summary: Breaking up with Terry

Author: @dpennedit

Touch Me Like You Care 🎯

Summary: See Ask. Story by @uniqueoutlierblog . Terry comes home to find you reading in bed, all thoughts of getting dressed out of your mind as you rest. He was prepared to let you, truly, but then he finds that you’re not wearing the bracelets he bought you. And well, he can’t let that slide, can he?

Author: @megamindsecretlair

Try Not To Mess Up The Seats 🎯

Summary: ...

Author: @2neaky

'Twas the Night 🎯

Summary: Treating yourself to a winter writing getaway, you are startled when the homeowner forgot to mention the 6’3 handyman that came by to fix things around the house. You find an unlikely friendship with the man, opening up about your romance novel. But when you confess that you need some inspiration, Terry is all too happy to be of service. 

Author: @megamindsecretlair

U

Unexpected Visitor 🎯

Summary: Reader is a housewife who is home alone and receives a visitor that’s not who he seems.

Author: @nayaxwrites

Untitled ✨

Summary:...

Author: @alldthoughtsinmyhead

Untitled dad!Terry blurb ✨

Summary:...

Author: @ripeandsoft

Untitled date blurb ✨

Summary: Joya learns more about Professor Richmond

Author: @ripeandsoft

Untitled pregnant!reader blurb ✨

Summary:...

Author: @ripeandsoft

Up Late ✨

Summary: toxic baby daddy!Terry

Author: @ripeandsoft

V

Veiled Intentions 📝📚

Summary: black male x black female

Author: @tvchi

Venus ⏳

Summary: After a long, draining week, Terry and Cleopatra spoil each other for Valentine's Day the only way they know how; love languages and love making.

Author: @venusincleo

W

Want You 🎯

Summary: Terry x female reader, you unlock psychopathic behavior within Terry

Author: @sweettea-and-honeybutter

Warm In December 🎯

Summary: You convince your husband, Terry, to slip away during your annual Christmas Eve party.

Author: @mermaidchansons

Where You Going? 🎯

Summary: Toxic Husband!Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Author: @theereinawrites

Wild 🎯

Summary: You went on a small camping trip with Terry, who graciously helped to introduce you to hiking. After a critter destroys your tent, you stupidly volunteer to share his. Shouldn’t be too bad, right?

Author: @megamindsecretlair

Wolf By Night 🎯

Summary: Halloween Smut Fest

Author: @nayaxwrites

Worst Behavior ✨

Summary:...

Author: @dxddykenn

X

Y

Yes Day 🎯

Summary: She was supposed to sl*t him out, but Terry said no, not happening and just took the reigns.😔

Author: @simplyzeeka

You Don't Know My Name 🎯

Summary: Terry comes into your diner every. single. day. He don't even know what he's doing to you. Or does he?

Author: Me @ranikyani

You Knew What You Were Doin' 🎯

Summary: all you wanted to do is show Terry your new pajama set (maybe), but things take a different turn

Author: @overthedeadsea

You Scared? 🎯

Summary:

Author: @miyuhpapayuh

Z

# - Emojis

11:11 ⏳

Summary: Biker!Terry Richmond x Charlie

Author: @nayaesworld

30 Whole Days 🎯

Summary: Aaron is having a get together at his home with his colleagues and his wife has had an attitude with him all day… he ends up fixing it tho.

Author: @mymindisneverhere

💓🌦️🏃🏽🏃🏾‍♀️🌦️💓 - ✨

Summary: Fluff!!! Kissing in the rain!! Rainy day vibes, no real plot

Author: @slippinninque

[fattummyt]

Broly/Gender Neutral Reader - Scent

Summary: There were few things Broly was unable to part with-- Bah's ear, being one of them. Most things he took his time easing himself into like citrus fruits and showers, but others were much more difficult to bear-- one of those being the removal of his shock collar.

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, implied relationships, gender-neutral pronouns, sleep, domestic, not canon compliant

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Past Abuse, Implied/Referenced Past Torture/Violence, Minor Injuries, Injury Recovery, Anxiety, Phantom Pains, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

Author's Notes: Y/N - Your name

Read it on AO3 here!

"Can I have my scarf back for a little bit?" The mere thought of parting made Broly's skin crawl, but after all, it did belong to you. "I promise I'll give it back before bedtime." Broly hesitated to move, long enough for you to notice something was off. "S-sure." He raised the scarf over his head, taking in the loss of warmth and the odd scent of his home. Is this how it always smelled? Why is it so cold all of a sudden? Thoughts began to pile up in his brain and before long he was fidgeting with the hem of his tunic again.

The red rash stretching around the base of Broly's neck was growing worse every night. When Bulma's father arrived to inspect it, after one look he gave you a diagnosis.

"This is no rash. These are self inflicted scratches."

"Scratches?" You asked. "How?"

Dr. Briefs inspected the massive hand resting in Broly's lap, standing intrusively close to the now uncomfortable Broly before waving you over to join him. You also looked, only to find his nails bitten down on each finger.

Broly, speaking for the first time since Dr. Briefs arrived, interrupted.

"What does… self inflicted mean?"

Dr. Brief paused, straightening his posture, as if just now recognizing Broly's presence. "That means you've got a nasty little habit there, son."

Broly didn't react, just blinking at the smaller man unamused and admittedly, even more confused than he was before.

Dr. Briefs turned to you, adjusting his glasses as he spoke. "He's been scratching himself in his sleep. It's really not all that uncommon, although, the location is fairly odd. Wait right here, I'll return with my tried and true method for curing this little problem."

The older man quietly exited the room and when he was far enough away you glanced over to find Broly, quietly biting at his thumb. You smoothed your fingers over the tender flesh of his neck, making him flinch at the sudden contact.

"I'm sorry, does it hurt?"

"No." He didn't look at you when he spoke.

You brushed his hair from his neck, revealing the full collar-like length of his scratches. His voice interrupted your worried thoughts, "I can still feel the shocks, sometimes. When I sleep. Sometimes when I wake up, I can still feel it tingling in my skin."

Guilt sat heavy in your belly as you recalled pushing him to remove the collar, before you could voice your concerns, in walked Dr. Briefs.

"I have some good news, son. For being such a good patient you get two prizes." He pulled two objects from behind his back. "A scarf and a pair of mittens."

You both looked equally as puzzled, before you interjected. "Did you take that from my hallway closet?"

He approached Broly, taking the fuzzy infinity scarf and wrapping it around Broly's broad neck and chin.

Upon inhaling, Broly was quickly overcome by your familiar scent.

Dr. Briefs tossed you the pair of familiar knit mittens.

"There. Now that scarf should distract you from the itching and the mittens will keep you from biting and scratching while you snooze."

"Wait, that's all?" You insisted.

Dr. Briefs chuckled. "Well, no sense in buying new fancy stuff when the old stuff works just as well."

As he turned toward Broly he took on a tense expression.

"Listen here, son. You kick that habit or else. Ladies don't like men with bad fingernails, or at least that's what Mrs. Briefs tells me--" "--Goodbye Dr. Briefs." You replied with urged movements.

He clasped his hands behind his back, turning to offer you a kind smile before heading to the door.

"Let me know how that works for him, Y/N. I am one Capsule Corp call away!"

As he left, you couldn't help but feel concerned for your other private belongings, but pushed that idea out your head as you soon noticed Broly seemingly deep in thought, completely oblivious. He wasn't biting his nails or fidgeting with his hands as he so often did when his mind was unoccupied. Instead the hyperaware man sat silent, eyelids heavy, seemingly lost in thought.

"Looks like it's already working. For being a bit peculiar, Dr. Briefs does know a thing or two after all." You didn't appreciate him volunteering your stuff, but far be it from you to take away something that makes Broly happy.

"I'm gonna go make myself some lunch, do you want anything?"

Broly didn't respond, instead letting his eyes fall shut, and his back hit the bed. You took that as your cue to leave, tossing the mittens on his bare chest. You smiled to yourself as you shut the door behind you, your departing footsteps barely audible over the thump of Broly's heart.

He wasn't sure how long he'd laid there like that, but it wasn't long before he had drifted off to sleep.

You were almost overjoyed when you saw Broly the following week after. The flushed red scratch marks across his skin were now just a memory. No surprise, considering he's a Saiyan. 

"I haven't woken up at night at all." Utter amazement in his voice as he spoke. Before this he hadn't had a full night's rest since the collar was gone.

"I'm so happy for you, Broly!" A warmth tingled in his cheeks which he quickly tucked away behind your scarf after hearing that. You broke into a huge smile, a smile you only reserved for when you had a great idea. "Let's celebrate! I'll make some snow cones!"

"Snow? Cones?" Broly didn't follow.

"You've never eaten snow cones before?" "Why would I eat snow?" A pain welled deep within your stomach as you recalled the delicious frozen desserts of futures passed. "I'm gonna make you the BEST snow cone-- you'll love them! Vampa is perfect for it. I'll get some snow from outside."

In a sudden haste, you rose from the kitchen table and quickly got dressed, pulling on your coat and boots as Broly watched in confused silence.

"It could be dangerous outside, I should go with you." "I'll be fine. I won't be going too far anyway." It wasn't until now that you noticed your scarf still tied around his neck. "Can I have my scarf back for a little bit?" The mere thought of parting made Broly's skin crawl, but after all, it did belong to you. "I promise I'll give it back before bedtime."

Broly hesitated to move, long enough for you to notice something was off. "S-sure." He raised the scarf over his head, taking in the loss of warmth and the odd scent of his home. Is this how it always smelled? Why is it so cold all of a sudden? Thoughts began to pile up in his brain and before long he was fidgeting with the hem of his tunic again.

You pulled the now significantly warmer scarf around your neck as you turned out the door. "I'll be right back."

Broly didn't answer as you left, too overwhelmed-- too hyper aware of everything, every tick of the heater, every gust of wind that would rattle the front door. He didn't have it in him to deny you your scarf but he was quickly realizing he wasn't going to be able to adjust so quickly.

"Broly." Your voice echoed in the hallway leading up to his room but there was no answer. You sniffled as you approached his bedroom door. "Broly?" You knocked gently, earning no response.

Sure, Broly was no stranger to your struggle meals, but you worked so hard on those snow cones, you just had to see his reaction to it.

Being a worrywart that you are, you let your anxiety get the best of you, cracking open his door to find his room inexplicably empty. Just as fear trickled up your spine, you heard what sounded like a thud from your room, down the hall. 

Quietly you opened the door, peering around to find Broly splayed across your bed, what looked to be child sized mittens tugged over his fingers as he laid face deep in your pillows, fast asleep. As far as you know Broly had never even seen the inside of your room, let alone laid in your bed. You wanted to be mad and annoyed, but the sight of his body causing your bed frame to creak with such agony almost made you want to laugh. You breathed a sigh of relief, tip toeing, albeit pointlessly, across the room to toss your blanket over him.

I guess I could sleep in his bed for tonight.

Read the fic on AO3! | Read more of my fics on Tumblr | Patreon | Website

[lpmurphy]

Begin Again

<- Previous Next ->

Summary: It had been thirty years since his truck tires rolled out of her drive for the last time. Even longer since the day his locker door slammed shut beside hers and marked the beginning of Jack Abbot. Beth had never expected it to end. Never expected to live a lifetime with only the ghost of the boy who promised her one together. She never expected to see him again. Until that curtain flung open, and there he was. And just like that, Jack Abbot began again.

Notes: jack abbot/single mom!ofc, reunited high school sweethearts, second chance romance, slow (emphasis on the SLOW) burn, seriously it's slow, ofc’s daughter is a teenage gen z menace and we love her for it, angst/longing/yearning to the max, hurt/comfort, author is just an english teacher with no medical background, eventual smut, jack and ofc are emotionally constipated idiots

Word Count: 6,243

Read on AO3

Chapter Twelve: Stay a Little Longer

“Six still back, two pending admits, nothing crashing. Bed 3’s your NSTEMI. Cardiology’s taking him, heparin’s running, stable. Bed 6’s abdo pain, maybe appy, surgery’s watching, NPO. 9’s our frequent flyer; ETOH, tried to swing at the nurse, now sleeping it off. Bed 1’s your fall. C clean, PT eval pending, maybe home. Kid in 4 has a virus, waiting on a flu swab and for mom to get the hell of WebMD before she convinces herself that he has Ebola. And Jane Doe’s your OD; ICU bed’s being cleaned. Should be down to get her within the hour. Oh. Almost forgot. Rectal foreign body removal in Bed 7. No complications, unless you count the fact that it was a bottle of Frank’s RedHot. So, we’re officially zero days without ass stuff.”

Jack stifled a yawn as he passed the iPad across the counter to Beth, who blinked slowly and shook her head while she absorbed the last addition to his handoff. It hadn’t been a bad shift, exactly—nothing crashing, no codes, no unfixable disasters—but it had been relentless. A small mercy, he guessed. He hadn’t sat down more than twice in twelve hours, and he’d spent more of it than he cared to admit feeling like a dog who’d just had his nose rubbed in his own mess, courtesy of his little come-to-Jesus moment with Grier, so he’d take the ones he could get. 

And then, to top it all off, he had to figure out the best way to extract a piece of household recycling from a grown man’s rectum without ever making eye contact. He was beyond ready to get the hell out of there.

But he didn’t mind hanging around a few extra minutes for handoff. Especially when it was her morning.

Beth stood across from him at the counter, looking like the human embodiment of eight hours of sleep and none of the things he’d seen tonight. Her hair was still down, a plastic white bow-shaped clip that obviously belonged to the kid clipped to her vest. Glasses on. Clear-eyed and awake. Zero exposure to rectal contraband. She slung her stethoscope around her neck and set her mug down before she took the tablet from him. 

She scrolled with one finger. “Oh gee,” she murmured, brow lifting slightly. “How’d that end up in there?”

He leaned his elbows on the counter, feigning concern. “Actually, funny you should ask. Craziest thing, get this; he has no idea.”

“Of course not. Why would he know such a thing? How rude of me to even ask,” she smirked, glancing up at him over her glasses before her eyes returned to the screen to review the Jane Doe’s toxicology report. “That’s what…three days since our last incident? I’d say that’s a new record.”

“Historic,” Jack said. “We should call Guinness. Maybe we’ll get a plaque.”

That earned a quiet laugh; more breath than sound. She pressed her lips together like she was trying not to smile, but didn’t quite succeed.

Her gaze lifted, just for a second, and landed on his. It wasn’t much, barely a glance, but it held. Just long enough to stir something in his chest that he wasn’t about to name. Something that had been waiting there, patient and quiet, for longer than he liked to admit. She dropped her eyes first, back down to the screen like nothing had passed between them at all, and he leaned a little more heavily on the counter. But that little smile didn’t drop. 

“I think we have an obligation to, honestly,” Beth said, adjusting her glasses like she was considering. “It’s a matter of public record.”

Jack nodded solemnly. “We owe it to science. History will want to know.”

“Exactly,” she said, still fighting that smile he hadn’t realized something in him was chanting for. “This is a teaching hospital, after all. Future generations must learn from our suffering.”

“Three days without ass stuff,” he said, with all the gravity of a eulogy. “Let it be carved into the walls.”

That earned it; that laugh. Not a polite one, but a burst of real amusement that startled out of her and made something in his chest go painfully warm. She shook her head, smiling so hard it scrunched her nose and made her eyes go soft, and God, if that didn’t hit him the same way it always used to when they were kids. Back when that smile could stop him mid-sentence and make him forget whatever smartass thing he was about to say.

Still could, apparently.

She dipped her head and tried to hide the way her lips stayed curled even after the laugh was gone. Her fingers moved across the tablet again, all business, but her shoulders hadn’t quite settled. Jack just stood there like an idiot, soaking in the sound of her laugh like he could bottle it up and store it somewhere for later.

He eased against the counter, voice low and softer in a way that surprised him a little. “Good morning.”

Beth returned the look, a quiet smile tugging at her lips as she gently pulled her hair free from under the stethoscope. “Good morning. Sounds like you had a long night.”

Jack gave a dry little smile. “Nothing a shower, a few Advil, and a beer can’t fix. Or two. Fine. Maybe three.”

“Oh, so just the basics then?”

“Exactly. Textbook recovery plan. Good as new.”

That earned her full smile again. “I bet you’re dying to get out of here, then.”

“No kidding,” Jack said, but didn’t move.

Just a few more minutes wouldn’t kill anyone. 

She was still standing across from him, scrolling through the chart, brow creased in quiet concentration. Same look she used to get when she was buried in notes a lifetime ago, chewing on the end of a highlighter or tapping her foot without realizing it. He used to watch her then, too; half in awe, half wondering how someone could hold so much fire and still be so gentle with it.

Maybe he could think up another patient to fill her in on. Just one more bit of bullshit. Something to justify how long he had already stood around without being on the clock.

He cleared his throat. “9’s a biter, by the way. Nearly got me earlier. Consider yourself warned.”

“Careful,” she said without looking up, flipping to the next screen. “I think that’s how you end up with superpowers.”

“That how it works, nerd?”

She rolled her eyes, fighting a smirk. “That or rabies,” she replied flatly.

He huffed out a laugh. “Real toss-up.”

Another low laugh puffed from her and something burned bright in his chest at the smile it brought with it. It lingered only a moment, then her shoulders dipped slightly, eyes dropping quickly back to the screen and her face dropping with it. She set the tablet down and crossed her arms, her fingers toying with the clip for a moment like she was trying to think of what to say next. 

“I should probably let you get going then,” she said, looking up at the tracking board.

“Probably.”

Neither of them moved.

Beth stayed where she was, eyes flicking down the tablet again, one hand absently toying with the clip on her vest. She squeezed the hinge a few times like she didn’t even notice she was doing it. She probably didn’t; she hadn’t used too when she fidgeted. He’d placed his hand over tapping pens or fingers obsessing with the hem of her shirtsleeve more times than he could count when her mind started running faster than she could catch it. He didn’t need to look to know. He could sense it before it even started back then. Jack straightened up out of the lean, stretching his back a little, but didn’t take the step back he probably should have. 

He got it. If the chain was still on that door, he’d understand. He was the reason it was latched in the first place.

He crossed his arms, feeling the weight of the night still clinging to him like grime; thick behind his eyes, deep in his muscles. He shifted his weight again and cleared his throat, watching her thumb click the clip once more before he spoke.

“How was Abby’s first week back?” he asked, keeping his tone light. Casual, if a little rough from the end of shift and not enough water. Just a question between coworkers. Just small talk. Nothing else.

Beth’s hand stilled. The clip stayed pinched between her fingers for a beat before she let it go and looked up at him, something in her expression softening.

“Really good, actually,” Beth said, the hardened mask she slipped into fading as it was replaced by the soft curve of her lips. “She’s liking all of her classes so far. Went to the first home game last night, then had a few friends spend the night after. She’s off to another friend’s house tonight, thank god.”

Jack tipped his head slightly. “Empty house then, huh?”

“You have no idea,” she sighed, nervous hands toying with her stethoscope like her body was already halfway into the shift ahead. “My parents surprised her and came down for the week, and then I had four teenagers in my house last night. I love my girl, don’t get me wrong; but I need a little quiet.”

“Four, huh?” He leaned his weight back onto one hip. “And you survived to tell the tale? Quite the feat.”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” she said, finally pulling her eyes from the board. Blue found him again, something fond and affectionate quickening her words. There she is, he thought. She always talked a mile a minute when she was talking about something she cared about like she needed to pour it all out before someone stopped listening. He never did. Not for a damn second.

She stepped casually toward the counter again. “I went to DisneyWorld with her cheer squad in February. I’ll take four over twenty any day of the week. And once volleyball starts back up, I’ll have the entire team in my living room.”

Jack gave a low whistle, eyebrows raised. “So you’re the fun house, huh?”

“ Obviously, ” she said with mock pride, reaching for her coffee like it was a trophy. “I wait until at least 2 a.m. before I start yelling at them to go to bed. It’s practically a frat.”

“Wow. How gracious of you.”

“What can I say?” She sighed and lifted one shoulder in a faux-humble shrug. “I’m not like a regular mom. I’m a cool mom.”

She laughed again, bright, easy, and real, and Jack felt it settle in him like a coin dropped into a deep well, hitting something old and familiar at the bottom that last night had knocked loose. He wasn’t quite sure if he even knew what that something was yet, but he knew he liked the feeling. The way it crept through him in a warm crawl until the last twelve hours felt like a distant memory he had to squint at before he could start to wonder if it was his to feel anymore. That eighteen-year-old who used to chase it like a storm, living for the next moment he could hear it with some stupid joke or kiss to her neck when she was pissed off at him surfaced for a moment, that dumb grin plastered across his face even now. 

He didn’t say anything right away. Just watched her skim the patient board again, her lips still tugged up faintly, her eyes clear. She leaned her elbows against the counter across from him, close enough that he could chart the faded freckles across her nose after she adjusted her glasses, mumbling under her breath as she read through the last of the patient charts. 

For a moment, he saw that girl he knew across from him clear as daylight. Like she was still that same girl who’d always known how to step into a room and quietly take care of everyone else before herself.

He cleared his throat lightly. “You’re good at that, you know.”

Beth didn’t glance up. “At yelling at teenagers?”

“No,” he said quietly, and this time he didn’t bother to look away. “At taking care of people.”

Beth’s fingers paused mid-scroll on the tablet. She didn’t look up at first, just went still like the words had caught her somewhere unexpected. And when she did finally glance over, it was slower; less guarded, but a little unsure, like she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined the softness in his voice. Color crept into her cheeks, and she ducked her head almost shyly, the motion so familiar it hit him like a kick in the gut. She tried to cover it with a sip from her mug, cleared her throat, and looked back at the screen like it demanded her full attention. But that smile tugged at her mouth anyway. For a quiet moment, she was just that girl, and he was just that boy chasing that smile the same as he used to.

Hell, maybe he still was. Maybe he never stopped. Maybe that’s why it felt so damn good now.

And God, it felt good.

Felt good the same way it had around that table last week, when her laugh had rung out louder than she meant it to and she’d tried to hide it behind her sleeve. The same way it had when she caught him watching her, and didn’t look away. Just raised her eyebrows like she used to, daring him to say whatever he was thinking. When he found himself working twice as hard to see an identical smile on the face across the table as well.

She’d always had that edge; like she’d been built from flint and dared the world to try her. Tough. Proud. Sharp enough to keep people from getting too close until they proved to her they should, only to be met with all that damn softness she kept protected behind those walls. Like she had something to prove in all of that confidence and grit and wit. Except him. She’d never had to prove a damn thing to him. 

She still didn’t.

She hadn’t changed much. Still careful with herself. Still guarded in all the same ways. And still, here he was, older, wearier, and no smarter, watching her, waiting on that smile like it was something he hadn’t already memorized a hundred times over.

Maybe that was the thing no one told him about getting older. Some parts didn’t. Some pieces stayed stuck in place the same for him as they had for her.

That same tough girl walked into the Pitt that first day just as guarded, those walls rebuilt a little higher, and damn him if that same boy wasn’t working just as hard to be let through the door.

That door had swung shut the moment he left. When her last letter came that first week of January, she made it clear she’d locked and deadbolted it behind him.

You left like I was never a reason to stay, she wrote. But leaving was your choice, Jack. Letting you go will be mine. 

He remembered every aching word of it like it was carved into him. He’d sat on the floor and let himself cry for the first time when she said it was the last letter. When she said goodbye. Because it meant that it really was over. At least when that letter came every week, he could pretend a little longer. Finality came sealed in an envelope addressed in handwriting he could still pick out of a lineup. Those letters lived in a box of his old Army shit in a storage unit beside the ones he never sent and could never bring himself to throw away. Words he’d been too cowardly to say. Words the girl who wrote every week despite it all deserved to read. 

But that girl peeked out from behind the door that she’d cracked open just barely when he knocked. And from the way she glanced up at him over her glasses, still leaned across from him in a hospital with a few more lines on their faces and a world’s worth of time between them, he knew he wasn’t done. 

What had she said to that burn patient a couple of weeks back? Ten seconds of brave? Hell, he did nearly an hour of it the night before. He could do ten seconds. She deserved far more than ten seconds.

So he knocked again.

“Hey,” Jack said, tapping his knuckles once against the counter absently, like he hadn’t fully decided to say something until the sound was already there between them. “Got any plans tomorrow night?”

Beth kept her focus on the tablet a second longer than necessary, scrolling once more before letting the screen go dark. Only then did she glance over at him, eyebrows lifted slightly.

“Yeah,” she said, that smile tilting just a little at the corner. “Don’t you?”

Jack’s brows furrowed. “Do I?”

Beth’s eyes narrowed, teasing, like she was waiting to see if he’d figure it out himself. He gave her a look, still not quite catching on.

“Javadi’s twenty-first?” she said, tilting her head like she couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. “Haggerty’s? Santos organized it. Sent a group text last week. Pretty sure you thumbs-up reacted to it.”

He let out a quiet groan, leaning on one elbow. “Right. That thing.”

“That thing.” Beth smirked, already picking her coffee back up. “You going? Or are you going to make the old lady babysit alone?”

“Isn’t Dana going? Seems like something she’d be all over.”

“Who do you think I’m babysitting?” She smirked, sipping from her mug.

Jack let out a breath of a laugh, nodding before he even fully meant to. He hadn’t planned on spending one of his rare nights off shoulder to shoulder in a sticky dive bar with half the staff drinking like monsters. And it sure as hell didn’t seem like the place to say Hey, sorry I walked out on you and broke your heart. I broke my own the moment I decided to go. That kind of thing didn’t land well between rounds of cheap tequila and shouting over karaoke.

But he nodded anyway. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be there.”

Beth smiled again at that. A smaller one, more to herself than to him, and something tugged tight in his chest when she murmured, “Good.”

He almost said something else. Something about how it would be nice to see her outside of handoffs and trauma bays. Something about how he missed seeing her smile like that. But Dana’s voice cut through the noise a second later, sharp and urgent. 

“Incoming GSW, ETA three minutes!”

“That’s my cue,” Beth was already turning, already moving like she hadn’t just knocked the wind out of him with a single word. She paused just long enough to look back over her shoulder. “Get some rest, Jack.”

He offered a little wave in return, two fingers lifted in lazy acknowledgment, but she was already in motion. He turned toward the ambulance bay doors, his body moving on autopilot even as his mind stayed two steps behind, still in that laugh, that smile, that soft murmur of good. Just before he cleared the doors, he glanced back, just long enough to catch the trailing edge of her ponytail disappearing around the corner.

Just long enough to feel something familiar settle in his chest again.

Good.

[sxcret-garden]

Seonghwa ღ 8:34pm [M]

ღ Ateez Seonghwa x fem-bodied!reader ღ words: ~1.1k ღ genre & warnings: smut (mommy!Seonghwa, sub!reader, he calls reader "kitten", lots of praise, finger sucking, guided masturbation, fingering, tiny bit of nipple play (all reader receiving), dacryphilia, subspace & dumbification implied for reader) ღ reader: has a vagina, reader's nipples are mentioned but their chest is not described further, no pronouns used for reader

Desc.: in which Seonghwa uses his (and your) fingers to make you feel good.

Author's note: Well we all know how this one happened I think *glances at milano hwa*

"That's right, kitten," Seonghwa coos, watching intently as two of his digits sink further into your mouth. "You're taking them so well for me." You make a pathetic little noise, your tongue running along his slender fingers, coating them in your saliva. Heat rushes to your face because he just won't look away, quite the opposite actually - he seems completely mesmerized by the way your lips wrap around his fingers.

"There..." Seonghwa reaches for one of your hands, bringing it up to his mouth, and your breath hitches when he extends his tongue to lick a stripe from the base of your index finger all the way to the tip. You're kneeling in front of each other on his bed, with you dressed in a pretty pink and white set of lingerie, the panties having already been removed by him earlier. Your thighs tremble from the anticipation, and from thinking about how good his tongue would feel all over your body - and he seems to catch onto your excitement, as a fond smile grows on his beautiful lips.

"It's your turn, kitten," he mumbles, the soft tone of his voice wrapping itself around your ears as he guides you to put two of your digits into his mouth. Keeping eye contact so intense it makes your head spin, you feel the wet heat of his mouth around them, and a shudder runs down your spine when his tongue parts your fingers inside his mouth, licking into the space between them and he hums in appreciation. His wet muscle snaking around them, you mimic his ministrations on his fingers, and eventually he releases your hand with a lewd sound. Wordlessly, he guides your stained fingers towards your core, urging you to touch yourself with merely a gesture. And you do, a muffled moan escaping your throat when you come in contact with your throbbing pussy, spit coated fingers gliding effortlessly through your folds. You knit your eyebrows at the intense feeling, but Seonghwa only encourages you further.

"Such a good little kitten... making yourself feel good for me?" You nod as he inserts another finger into your mouth, and as if hypnotized, you dip a digit into your dripping cunt. Another mewl falls from your lips, and you close your eyes as Seonghwa's fingertips play with your wet muscle. He traces the outline of your teeth, causing your mouth to fall open further, and he takes it as an invitation to add a fourth finger.

"So pretty for me... add another one too?" You do, pumping two fingers in and out of you, and when he reaches down between your bodies to wrap his free hand around your wrist so he could angle your hand in a way that makes your palm rub against your clit gently, your eyes flutter shut. "You're so pretty my kitten... 's it feel good?" You whine in response, finger working both your pussy and your mouth, and when Seonghwa brings his fingertips a little closer to the back of your throat, you gag around them. He pulls back immediately, cooing, "We can't have that now, can we?" You whimper, your own fingers hitting that delicious spot deep inside you just right, and the pleasure builds up in the pits of your stomach.

"Doing so well for me..." Seonghwa praises you. "Being such a good kitten for mommy." You clench around your digits upon hearing his words, tears of pleasure forming in the corners of your eyes, and when he finally pulls his hand out of your mouth, there's only one word slipping past your lips.

"M-mommy..." you stutter, head already spinning.

"What is it, kitten?" he speaks softly, moving his dripping wet hand south.

"Mhmm... feels so good..." you mumble and he leans in to brush his lips against your neck right below your ear.

"Yeah? Hold still for a sec. Mommy's gonna make you feel even better." You obey, and when Seonghwa's fingers prod at your entrance, you whimper at the stretch. "Too much?" he asks as he slowly inserts not one but two of his slender digits, and you shake your head. "Bearing with it so well, I see," he whispers, and you gasp when his warm tongue licks up a stripe along the side of your throat. He works his fingers inside you, reaching a little deeper with every time he pushes back into you, and eventually he's curling them deliciously against your walls, guiding you to do the same with yours.

"Ah...!" you cry out from the overwhelming pleasure of being stuffed so full of him and yourself, and he brings his lips to yours to swallow all other sounds that escape you in a deep kiss. With each stroke against your walls you feel yourself drawing closer to your high, and when you start moving your hips in the rhythm he sets, he breaks the kiss to praise you, breathless.

"That's a good kitten..." he speaks, and then he proceeds to kiss his way down your neck, until he reaches your chest. Biting the fabric of your lingerie, he pulls it to the side, until he can wrap his lips around your nipple, hot tongue drawing circles around the sensitive bud, making you lose your mind yet a little further.

"M-mommy... mommy...!" you cry out, tears spilling from your eyes while all the overwhelming pleasure gets too much. Seonghwa hums at your desperate noises as he's buried knuckles deep in your clenching cunt, and when you squirm under his touch he only becomes more eager to make you feel good. A few more licks against your skin, a few more thrusts of his fingers into you, and he has you coming undone in his arms, your orgasm washing over you while incoherent whines fall from your lips. He helps you prolong your high, keeping a steady pace for as long as your body convulses against his touch and you clench around your and his fingers, and then, when you're finally coming down from it, he pulls out and lies you down carefully.

"Did so well for mommy..." he praises you, drawing comforting circles onto your thighs with his palm, and he brings his other hand that's coated in your juices up to your mouth. "See how sweet you are," he says as he watches you lick his fingers clean obediently. "I wonder how much sweeter you'll taste once I make you cum on my tongue instead..."

Taglist:

@aaa-sia @wooyoungisbaby @winklehwa @asianpenguin04 @certifiedmoa

@bunnyluvr25

[luvsferrariss]

˚⟡˖ ࣪. ʚ 💌 ɞ a love between letters and secrets - OO1

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ synopsis: In a desperate situation to help Han Seo-Jun, S/N offers to tutor him.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Han Seo-Jun x famale reader.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ warnings: Bullying, mentions of anxiety, shy reader. I don’t think there’s anything else, but if I forgot something, please let me know.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ author’s Notes: I’m really excited to write this story—it’s been on my mind for a long time! I know it’s been almost five years since this K-drama aired, but I still love it. I hope you all enjoy it! I’m a little shy about my work, but I’ll try to post more here. English isn’t my first language, so there might be mistakes—sorry! 🤍

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Series Masterlist here! 🤍

After a long study session, your pencil slipped from your hand, landing on your math notebook. You sighed, checked your phone, and saw that there were less than five minutes left before class started. Removing your headphones, you placed them in your bag along with your phone. Before class began, you decided to head to the bathroom.

Once there, you reapplied your lip gloss and adjusted your prescription glasses on your face. Your contact lenses had run out, and since you had ordered them online, they hadn’t arrived in time for class. Without them, you couldn’t see well, and though wearing glasses was a bit uncomfortable for you, you had no choice but to use them when necessary.

As you slipped the gloss into your pocket and turned to leave, you accidentally bumped into one of the school’s bullies.

“Well, look who we have here,” the girl sneered, pushing you back against the wall. “Decided to wear glasses again? What did I tell you about those, huh, Y/N? You look absolutely hideous.” She laughed, and you lowered your gaze, feeling uncomfortable and embarrassed. She snatched your glasses off your face and tossed them into the trash before shoving you, making you fall to the ground.

Panic surged through you, your heart racing and your breath hitching. Unpleasant memories sent a shiver down your spine. You tried to steady your breathing, to calm yourself down, but you failed. You attempted to get up, but the girl shoved you back down.

“Stop acting smart. You’re not smart, and you’re definitely not pretty,” she taunted before walking out of the bathroom, laughing. You leaned against the wall, hugging your knees to your chest.

You heard hurried footsteps approaching, but your blurred vision made it impossible to see who it was. You swallowed back a sob, trying your best not to cry. A girl—clearly another student—helped you up and pulled you into a comforting hug.

“Y/N, are you okay?” The voice was familiar, but you couldn’t quite place it.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you replied with a small smile, looking down. “Could you help me find my glasses? I have no idea where they landed.”

“Of course, I’ll look for them.” She started searching while you leaned against the wall, rubbing your sore elbow. You could already tell it would bruise.

Another one you’d have to hide.

“Here, I found them. She threw them in the trash, but I’ll wash them for you.”

“There’s no need, I can—” you started, but she interrupted you.

“Y/N, relax. It’s okay, I already cleaned them. Here.” She handed you your glasses, and when you put them on, you finally saw her clearly—it was your classmate, Lim Joo-Kyung. Relief washed over you at the sight of a familiar face.

The two of you hadn’t really talked before. You came from different worlds—while you were the quiet, studious type, she was… well, she was beautiful, and her beauty was practically legendary at school.

She had only been attending for a few weeks, but she had already captured countless hearts.

“Thank you, Lim Joo-Kyung. Really, thank you,” you said sincerely.

“No problem, Y/N,” she replied with a simple smile, and you smiled back, a little shyly.

“Can we keep this between us? I don’t want anyone to know, please,” you said, your voice wavering slightly. She sighed, understanding your pain.

“Of course. But if this happens again, try to talk to someone, okay?” she said, and you nodded. “Was this the first time?”

“Yes, it was. Don’t worry.”

No, it wasn’t the first time. And it wouldn’t be the last.

“Well, alright then. Just let me know if anything happens, okay? Now, let’s head back to class.” She linked her arm with yours, and the two of you walked together.

It was nice. You had a hard time making friends because of your shyness, but this moment made you happy.

When you arrived, both of you apologized to the teacher, who simply smiled understandingly. You took your seat, and when you glanced at your new friend, she winked at you.

( . . . )

“Mrs. Lee Mi-Hyang…” the teacher sighed, looking at the mother and son sitting in front of him. “It’s no secret that Han Seo-Jun’s grades have been dropping significantly. After discussing it with the other teachers, we felt it was necessary to speak with you about it,” Mr. Han Jun-Woo explained.

The woman sighed, turning to her son, who had his head lowered, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket.

“It can’t be that bad…” Mrs. Lee Mi-Hyang started, but she stopped immediately when the teacher handed her a sheet with her son’s grades. “Oh… Wow. Is there anything we can do to improve this?”

“Look, Mrs. Lee Mi-Hyang. More than any other teacher here, I believe in this boy and his potential,” Mr. Han Jun-Woo said, making Han Seo-Jun lift his head. “I think tutoring sessions could really help him bring his grades up. I understand he had to take some time off, but now that he’s back, I hope he can catch up.”

As the teacher spoke, Han Seo-Jun sighed and glanced around the room—his eyes landed on Y/N, who was talking to another teacher. A smile lit up her face as she received a paper. Han Seo-Jun squinted slightly, observing her. How had he never noticed her before? That smile was…

“He could join the after-school study group for tutoring,” the teacher suggested, snapping the boy back to reality.

“That sounds like a great option. It would really help,” Mrs. Lee Mi-Hyang agreed, smiling. But her son sighed, shaking his head in clear disapproval.

“I’ll just check if there’s an available spot for him, and tomorrow I’ll—” The teacher paused, smiling when he spotted Y/N. He waved her over, and she approached with a shy smile.

“Do you need anything, sir?” she asked timidly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Y/N, this is Mrs. Lee Mi-Hyang, Han Seo-Jun’s mother.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she greeted politely, and the older woman immediately found her endearing.

“Y/N is the top student in our class. She and Lee Su-Ho are always competing for the highest grades,” the teacher chuckled. “But in a healthy way. Y/N used to help with tutoring, but this year, she stepped back to focus on organizing the sessions. She’s studying to become a doctor.” He spoke proudly, and Y/N nervously fidgeted with her fingers.

“Really? That’s amazing, Y/N. I hope you achieve your goal,” Mrs. Lee Mi-Hyang said kindly, making Y/N blush and mumble a shy thank you.

“So, Y/N, we wanted to ask if there are any open spots in the tutoring program after school. Han Seo-Jun could use some help,” the teacher said.

“Hmm, unfortunately, all the groups are full. I believe new spots will open next month,” Y/N responded politely, feeling a bit disappointed.

“Alright, we’ll figure something out. Thank you, Y/N.” The teacher dismissed her, and she walked toward the classroom. But as she reached the door, an idea struck her. Without thinking twice, she ran back to the teacher’s office.

“Sir, I think I can help,” she said, making him turn to her immediately. Fortunately, no one else was around. “I can tutor Han Seo-Jun after school. We can schedule study sessions—I really don’t mind.”

“But you need to focus on your own studies, Y/N. I appreciate your willingness to help, but you should prioritize yourself,” the teacher said, but she shook her head.

“No, really, it’s fine. I’d do this for anyone who needed help,” she said confidently, making the teacher nod.

“Are you sure, Y/N?” he asked, still hesitant.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Alright, then. I’ll talk to his mother.”

[sftandwet]

 SMELL OF BLOOD! VAMP ADA & VAMP LEON X YOU

content alert ★ pwp, pussy eating, biting, blood, sub reader, use of dagger, superficial cut, licking blood, threesome | vamp leon x reader x vamp ada

links ★ masterlist revil ! ☁️ ۰ movie star event

❨author's ۰ notes ❩ ★ I loved writing this, I confess i wrote it when i was drunk :D seeing re4's aesthetics gives me a wonderful feeling, so writing this was a delight.

Feeling the sharp nails scratching your skin, you experience thin lines of pleasure running through your body. Tied to the bed, completely naked and under the gaze of Leon and Ada, you feel restless. Excitement flows rapidly like fuel in a fire, and intoxicated with pleasure, as if you had consumed high doses of alcohol. Longing for any contact, you are willing to do anything they desire, surrendering completely to their whims.

"So eager... so needy... Hold back and be patient, because if everything ends too quickly, there won't be any fun," whispers Ada against your lips, before gently kissing them, skillfully sliding her tongue over yours. With surprising kindness, she bites and sucks your lips, holding your face in her hands, occasionally pausing to look into your eyes, then kissing you again a little faster, always nibbling on your lips. "And we all want to have fun, darling."

Taking opposite positions, Leon takes his place on the left and Ada lies down on your right side, delicately. They explore your skin with subtle touches, gently tracing the lines of your face with cold fingers, provoking shivers through your body and causing your back to arch.

"You're so sensitive," Leon laughs playfully, burying his head in your neck and leaving kisses on your warm skin, while sliding his left hand smoothly along your bare leg, pulling it and opening it for himself. Ada follows suit, assisting the blond in parting your legs. "I appreciate every little detail of your body," she declares lovingly.

“Everything is so perfect” Ada confesses to you, sliding past your legs, reaching your crotch, running her hand over your pussy, feeling your essence wet the tips of her fingers. Wong doesn't shy away, trying to dip his fingers into your wet hole slowly, feeling your cunt squeeze his fingers.

“A-Ada, p-please” In a mix of desire and desperation, you beg, raising your hips in search of an extra dose of pleasure, but the provocative rhythm only increases your madness. Each time she penetrates and removes her fingers completely, you involuntarily contract the void, in a vain attempt to prolong the sensation. "Please"

You feel a gentle bite on your neck as Leon slides his hand further down. You gasp in despair. Internally, feelings of self-deprecation begin to emerge. Feeling so desperate over so little makes you question why you are so sensitive. There hasn't even been an overload of pleasure and you're already panting, spilling out every time you feel the red orbs staring at your essence. Every kiss and every touch of their fangs gives you pleasure. You long for a bond devoid of formalities, you ardently want to be bitten and become theirs forever .

Now Leon was touching you too, Ada sees him touching and takes his hand, bringing it closer to your pleasure center, which he rubs gently, you scream, closing your eyes with the immeasurable pleasure you feel. Your body needs it and you know it, although they also know it, seeing you so vulnerable and so needy for so little made them shiver, catching a glimpse of your wet cunt from mere touches was like admiring a work of art. Both were on their knees between your legs, resting your legs on their laps, while touching your pussy.

“Please, I need more” with effort you managed to speak straight, loud and clear, shamelessly begging for more touches. It was like torture, sadistic and impetuous, torturing you with crumbs of pleasure .

“Be patient, bunny” Leon comes out and comes to your face, gently holding your chin, looking at you with his scarlet orbs, catching a glimpse of your tearful gaze, pleading eyes in his direction.

“Fun must last, love” Leon kisses your lips, unlike Ada who was soft, he is a little rougher. Sticking his tongue in your mouth, sucking your lips hard, while sliding his hands to your neck, squeezing it with pressure, you sigh and he takes the opportunity to put his tongue in your mouth again. “Be a good girl for us…”

"And we'll do whatever you want" with catlike steps, Ada approaches you, kissing your neck, running her fangs slowly along your warm skin while her fingers circled your nipple. Leon imitates her, although a little more impolite than Ada, your body reacts the same way when you feel them touch you.

They both slide their fingers down your abdomen, feeling your skin crawl under their fingers and your body stiffen, fingers finding your wet pussy, making a light caress before Leon opens her labia and Ada slides her fingers under her needy clit. Rubbing it in slow movements, gently passing the tips of his fingers over the point of pleasure, making her arch her back.

“F-fuck! Please, Ada… a little faster, p-please” you beg, looking deep into the scarlet of her eyes, seeing her laugh at you. However, Ada does not do what you want, on the contrary, she increases her speed minimally, when your body begins to numb with pleasure she stops abruptly, looking directly into your despair eyes when she does so.

She smiles looking at you immobilized wrists. “Have I told you that I like you like this?” His mouth slowly approaches your erect nipple, licking it carefully, biting hard, listening to your scream. “Completely given to me… Needy and desperate ”

“So beautiful” Leon added, taking his hands off you and getting on his knees between your legs, looking at your cunt clenching into nothingness, with Ada's finger still pressing your clitoris, admiring it as it drips, the translucent cum slowly spilling out, making it wet the mattress. Salivating, feeling uncontrollable before you, Leon lowers himself towards your pussy, without delay he licks it generously, sliding his tongue inside your wet hole. “So delicious”

“I think I want to try some too” Ada gets out of bed, taking slow steps to the bedside table and picking up a dagger, which she holds and places next to her on the pillow “For later”.

She lies down next to Leon, staying at a minimum distance from him, taking one of his legs and exposing your pussy to him. You feel your body burn, just having them there makes you moan and feel that heat in your abdomen, that hot sensation that makes you anxious.

You spread your legs, exposing yourself to the maximum, closing your eyes when they firmly hold your leg. You feel hair touch your thighs again, a feeling of anxiety hits you again when you feel both faces approaching your pussy, causing you immeasurable pleasure to see them there. Leon is the first to take the step, she presses her tongue inside you, swirls it against the sensitive nerves, pulls it out to lick hard your clitoris, while Ada kisses your calf, quickly sliding it across your skin.

You moaned deeper, forcing your eyes to open to meet his. He looked so perfect like that, hovering over your pussy with his lips parted in ecstasy. You untangled your left leg, using it to push his head, making him return to where he was. He snuggled into the mattress, holding your hips closer to his face as he continued to thrust his tongue into you, touching that sweet spot inside you. “Fuck, fuck, right there!”

You closed your eyes once again, trying hard to rub your pussy against his face.

“Look at me, pretty girl” Ada asked, grabbing your thigh tightly, trying to get your attention “I want to see your pretty face, while we suck your cunt.”

She lies down next to Leon, grabbing his golden locks, pulling him out of that spot, hearing a dissatisfied guttural growl from Leon.

“Calm down, big boy. I want to have fun too.” Face side by side, cheeks pressed together, they both stick out their tongues and lick your pussy. Both tongues pressing your clitoris, holding your legs and placing them against your breasts, giving them the freedom to use your cunt to their advantage. Tongues fighting for territory, silent dispute between them, you felt them favorably eating you, you feel a tongue enter your hole, gently taking and placing ─ Ada, you feel her licking your clitoris with force, being followed by Leon, who also your clitoris, sometimes disturbing Ada's rhythm, earning an angry moan.

You felt immersed in the sea, waves taking you wherever the wind sends you, brutally manipulating your path. The incandescent pleasure burning through your body, taking that unsettling feeling to your stomach. Your legs tremble every time you feel them fucking your pussy with their mouth, every time you feel your cum dripping from your pussy or them gently biting your clit. Feeling the nerves on edge.

“My God! II….Fuck” Your body gives in to the pleasure, shaking from head to toe, cumming hard on Ada and Leon's tongue, feeling them even more fervent in front of you, they still suck your clit hard, you try to close your legs, however, seeing Leon get up and brutally hold your legs you are stopped. Meanwhile, Leon holds them with his right hand and Ada walks towards him, seeing his tired face; teary eyes, swollen lips and furrowed eyebrows.

“Now, you will be ours” you don't know when she took the knife, however, you saw when she cut her own hand and put the blood on your lips, you lick it, feeling the metallic taste on your lips, Wong boils when she sees you like that, biting her lips and looking into your eyes. “Only ours” Leon added, sliding his hard and hot cock through your pussy, watching your hole tighten to nothing, until he enters you, being watched by Ada's scarlet eyes, he lies on top of you, surrounding your legs around your waist.

“L-Leon” you close your eyes tightly, moaning as you feel the pleasure merge with you again.

As Kennedy buries their head in your neck, leaving soft kisses on your skin, you feel a mixture of anticipation and desire for what is to come. The intensity of the moment increases when you realize that Ada is also doing the same, causing your body to fill with fervor and shivers.

With your head lifted and your gaze turned upwards, you stretch your neck to the maximum, seeking to absorb every sensation. It is in this instant, amidst the caresses and the pleasurable sighs, that you hear Wong, near your ear, releasing a faint laughter that echoes intriguingly and temptingly.

“Good girl” whispers before both of them plunge their fangs into your neck, and a deafening scream escapes your lips as the sharp needles penetrate your skin. However, the pain is insignificant in the face of the prospect of having eternity to enjoy alongside the people you desired. The scent of blood will be tempting, the taste of immortality on your lips. The kisses throughout your endless life will be solely for them, and that is what truly matters."

[kaleldobrev]

In the Cover of the Night

Pairing: Felix Catton x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader & Felix Catton

Summary: Felix fingering you on the steps in the middle of the night

Word Count: 939

Warnings: Cursing (5x), Smoking (Brief), Smut (Fingering - Semi-Public) & Praise Kink (Implied)

Authors Note: Semi-public sex tag as this is taking place outside | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

There was a slight summer breeze as you sat out on the steps with a lit cigarette between your fingers, looking up at the almost full moon in the starry night sky. You were severely under dressed to be outside this time of night; only wearing one of Felix's light dress shirts with absolutely nothing else underneath, as it was the first piece of clothing you had managed to find from the scattering of clothes on yours and his floor from the needy and desperate sex the two of you engaged in after yet another Catton dinner party.

As you placed the cigarette into your mouth, you turned your attention to yours and Felix's bedroom; the darkness completely consuming the space — the moonlight trying it's best to make it's way into the room but ultimately failing because of the curtains completing covering the windows.

You heard footsteps coming from behind you, and you turned to see who it could be. Your first thought was Venetia as she would usually be the one to come and spend time with you this time of night; the two of you often enjoying staring up at the moon together. But it was Felix who was making his way toward you with an already lit cigarette in hand wearing just his robe and nothing else. "Were you peeping at me before you decided to come and join me?" You asked, as your boyfriend took a seat on the same steps your feet were placed on.

“For a bit. You look very tempting like this; couldn’t help myself,” he smiled, popping the cigarette between his lips.

"I was just having a little smoke and looking up at the moon. What's so tempting about me this way?" You asked as innocently as you possibly could while nonchalantly starting to part your legs, and putting out your cigarette on the steps.

You noticed his eyes starting to move from your own to your legs as he placed a single hand on your thigh, smirking as he did so. “You’re wearing one of my shirts with no panties on, love,” he stated. As he spoke, his hand moved up your thigh slowly, stopping at the hem of the dress shirt. “And you know how much I love fucking you in my clothes,” he added, keeping that signature smirk of his on his lips.

He removed the cigarette from between his lips, and put it out in a spot next to yours before his fingertips started to inch their way higher so they were completely underneath the shirt. He brushed them ever so slightly against your clit, and you were starting to get wet from the insanely brief contact that he was giving you. You used to be embarrassed by this, embarrassed by how turned on he had made you by barely doing anything; how instantly there would be such a pool between your legs the second he even remotely looked in your direction. But as time went on, you didn’t care, didn’t care because you knew how much he loved having this kind of effect on you, because you had the exact same effect on him.

“Always so ready for me,” he whispered; two fingers running up and down your clit. “Want to fuck you just like this,” he whispered again, his fingertips still teasing the outside.

“Then do it,” you stated; and his smirk grew even wider — you didn’t think it could get any wider. He didn’t say anything in response; he simply just started dipping his two fingers inside of you, starting to fill you with the sensation you always seemed to crave. Despite having sex with him only a few hours prior, you would never get tired of the feeling of him filling you up.

Your head automatically went back and you shut your eyes; but it was so brief as his other hand went to your jaw, making you focus on his face. His fingers went in deeper, slightly curling. “Lift up the shirt a little so you can look,” he said, an octave above a whisper. “Want you to see how beautiful you look like this.”

Without hesitation, you did as you were told, and lifted the hem of the shirt more, your pussy completely exposed out in the open as you watched his fingers disappearing and reappearing inside of you — the moonlight providing the most erotic looking type of light. "You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, and he finally leaned in to capture your lips; which caused his fingers to go even deeper inside of you. You moaned into his mouth as you kissed; his fingers starting to pick up the pace just only slightly. Your moans were so muffled, and that's one of the things he had loved when it came to fucking you like this out in the open. He loved how you tried so hard to remain quiet, but always failed.

You started to clench around him, and he smirked into the kiss. "Does my girl need to come?" He whispered in your ear; slightly nipping at your earlobe before starting to kiss your neck.

"Yes," you moaned out, as he continued to suck and kiss your neck — ultimately wanting to leave hickies on your skin.

"Then come," he said softly, his lips attaching themselves to your chest; almost peppering kisses just below your collarbone.

With a few more pumps, your whole body started to shudder as you came; but his movements didn't let up as he helped you ride out your orgasm. "You're so fucking beautiful when you come," he praised against your skin. He always praised you.

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[lisssyyu]

Dried Blood - The Renaissance Project

PAIRINGS: VI × F!READER

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I honestly didn't think I'd write part two this quickly, but here it is. It's still not a full-fledged fanfic or anything, but... it's better than nothing, really.? English is not my native language, so if you see any mistakes, please point them out to me!

WARNING(S): —

TAGS: behavioral specialist!Vi ;; Jurassic World!au ;; drabble ;; arcane

@baylegend6 ;; @sevikas-whore ;; @klallx

туалет: 5.2k

часть: 1 ;; 2 ;; ?

A typical morning.

Your mornings were always busy: setting up your headset, making the rounds, attending a bunch of boring meetings in the lab, and writing mandatory reports. But today was different.

Today you have a free schedule. The meeting is only closer to lunchtime, which means you can afford to deviate a little from the protocol and do what you've wanted to do for a long time: watch Vi.

You haven't known each other for long, and your communication has mainly been based on teasing and sarcastic comments. But you couldn't help but be intrigued by the ease and.. devotion with which Vi approached her work. It was as if she lived among predators and spoke their language. And that raised questions. And interest.

You settled down on a higher observation platform, not particularly hiding, and picked up your notebook. This was not a work notebook, but a personal one, in which you wrote down not only the behavior of the animals, but also everything that did not fit into a dry scientific scheme. Thoughts, impressions, moments that could not be explained by formulas.

At first, everything went as you expected: cleaning, feeding, checking locks. Routine, almost boring work.

None of the raptors had shown themselves from the bushes yet. Only after a couple of minutes did you hear the soft squelching of paws in the mud and see Ship, Vi's favorite, whom she described as a fast, voracious creature.

"Come on, girl," Vi said, crouching down. "No tricks, or you'll push Wouter again like you did yesterday. I saw you."

The raptor clicked its teeth quietly, stretched its neck, and Vi held out a piece of meat to it. The next second, she slapped Ship on the side with a sharp movement. Not hard, more like a game.

"Yeah," she smiled. "I missed you too."

You exhaled, catching yourself smiling.

07:40 — demonstrative "play" behavior. Vi interacts with the individual as a social partner. Contact is not through fear, but through habit and mutual trust.

You wrote a lot. So much that you almost fell off your chair when Vi shouted at you without turning around:

"Hey, smarty pants, write this down too: 'The observed feels like they're under a microscope, but doesn't complain because the observer is damn annoying but cute.' "

You didn't answer. Your cheeks began to burn treacherously, and, trying to maintain at least some dignity, you silently got up and left as if you hadn't been sitting there at all, watching your "partner" go about his typical morning.

A scar on her wrist.

It was summer. Hot is an understatement. Although it was almost always hot on this island, this time the sun seemed determined to melt everything alive. Management strictly forbade removing uniforms for safety reasons, but Vi, unable to stand it, thoughtlessly rolled up the sleeves of her signature dark blue shirt to her elbows just to lower her body temperature a little.

That's when you first noticed them.

Red, angry scars stretching from her wrists upward, as if wrapping around her arms. You froze, your gaze glued to those scars. You wanted to ask right away, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. And when you finally mustered up the courage and approached her, Vi, as you expected, simply ignored your question. She didn't even look in your direction. She just walked away.

You thought about it all day. You came up with theories. You imagined how she heroically defended someone from an enraged predator, how she grabbed the raptor by the mouth and didn't let go. In your mind, it was almost beautiful.

But at night, during your joint shift, when you were sitting next to each other, tired, in silence, and she was still wearing the same shirt with rolled-up sleeves, Vi suddenly spoke:

"It's not from a dinosaur. It's from a human. A stupid boy. I didn't know then that monsters also walk on two legs."

There was silence. Vi cleared her throat awkwardly and took a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of her back pocket. Her fingers trembled slightly.

"But you're not one of them. Thanks for asking."

"Zone 7".

A new enclosure was built. This meant it was time to release a young herd of predators into it. The management department immediately called a general meeting: employees, administrators, curators, and even scientists. You and Vi were among the first to arrive.

The discussion quickly turned into an argument. How to raise the herd and which method would give the best results?

Vi insisted on her approach: the "instinctive bonding" method, working with the dominant leader, creating a personal connection, and direct participation in the formation of the pack from the very beginning. Live contact. Risk, but stability.

You proposed a different approach: through positive reinforcement, a controlled environment, and creating a sense of security. Behavioral incentives, gradual socialization. No pressure.

Surprisingly, most of those present unexpectedly leaned toward your version. Maybe because it sounded more "scientific," or maybe because Vi spoke too harshly.You saw her clench her fists under the table. How tense she was. How, without saying a word, she got up and left. She just walked out of the room, ignoring everyone.

Later that evening, you found a note on your desk. The handwriting was uneven, slightly sweeping, clearly written in the heat of the moment:

"Good luck with the training, Professor. Just don't forget that they don't read your articles — they eat."

a holiday that doesn't exist.

Vi doesn't celebrate birthdays. It's like a taboo. No cakes, no congratulations, not even hints. No one knows why. Maybe it's because the past leaves marks deeper than scars on the skin.

Once, while sorting through documents in the archive, you accidentally found her personal file. It had the date she was born. It seemed like a small thing. But you decided to make a small gesture that might say more than words.

When Vi left for her morning rounds of the enclosures, you quietly slipped into her room and placed a small bag of dried mango slices on her bed, which she had talked about and praised so much. Next to it lay an old coin engraved with a raptor, a symbol of strength and freedom that seemed to have meaning for her.

Vi said nothing. Not that day, nor the next. She behaved as usual, flashing her cheeky grin and teasing you about little things.

But a week later, leafing through your observation notebook, you found someone else's handwriting on one of the blank pages.

Pencil. A little crooked, but clear.

Next to it, a raptor, sketched with quick but precise lines. And underneath it, the inscription:

"They remember those who share their food. So do I."

[cautious-creation]

Angel Shot (Meeting Jason Todd)

Fandom & Character: DC, Titans TV show

Pairing(s): OFC (unnamed) x Jason Todd (Curran Walters)

Word count: 1981

CW/TW: creepy drunk guy behaviour (incl. minor physical contact), mildly violent self-defence, vague description of a minor panic attack, drunk character, alcohol consumption (potentially underage depending on what canon and era you're visualising)

Rating: RT: suitable for teens

Summary: MC (unnamed OC) is being pestered by a drunk creep at a bar on a night out, fortunately she happened to choose a seat beside Jason Todd, though she didn't really need his back up anyway.

Author’s note: this is one of the options I came up with for how my OFC would meet Jason in that long multi-chapter fic that's been plaguing me for more than a year now.

RE. Angel Shot: An angel shot is a code word that a customer can use to discreetly signal to a bar or restaurant staff that they feel unsafe. The staff can then take action to help the customer.

Jason sat at the bar beside her, both having their own, independent, nights out. Unfortunately, she was bracketed on the other side by a pestering creep. Jason observed the far too confident douche bag with amusement, knowing that he was going to beat the crap out of him before he could hurt the unfamiliar girl even a little.

Jason scoffed at his lines and gagged at his dirty talk. MC heard J’s responses and felt a little more confident, or at least like the creep was pitiful and not dangerous.

Jason decided to intervene when saw MC getting more nervous.

"Hey, 'scuse me, my name’s Jason, can I buy you an angel shot?" He saw the recognition on her face, then relief as her fear seemed to dissipate slightly.

“That… that’s really nice of you to offer. I’m set for now," she gestured with her bottle of soft drink, "but, thank you, Jason.”

“You're welcome.” he saluted her with the neck of the bottle he held, “Let me know if you change your mind.” With a last smile, he sipped on his beer and returned to his night.

The creep was angry, baffled, and irresponsibly drunk.

“Why does he get you being nice to him and you’re all shitty to me?"

What a child. “Because he used his manners. He didn’t eye-fuck me before even introducing himself. He offered me a drink without expecting me to pay him back with sex. He gave me the option to remove myself from the interaction. And he didn’t get desperate and needy like a little bitch baby when I said no to him.”

Jason smirked, a little proud at the praise and definitely enjoying seeing the asshole suffer.

“I do not consent to you touching me. I have never consented to you touching me. The way you are speaking to me is making me feel uncomfortable and unsafe. Continuing to talk to and touch me now constitutes sexual harassment and/or assault, and, if you do continue to talk to or touch me, I will interpret that as a hostile and violent act and react in self-defense.”

The creep looked like he only heard every second word, mostly because his gaze was fixed on MC’s tits. “Sounds like baby’s feeling a little bratty for daddy.”

An honest-to-God gag ripped up her body, then she froze. His hand was plastered against her thigh, clammy and warm in the most disgusting way.

Jason froze, anger and violent thrill circulating in his bloodstream.

Within a second, the creep's head was extended as far back as it could go, with MC's thumb jammed into the underside of his jawbone, pressing against the sensitive lymph nodes. Her other hand had two fingers pressing down hard, nails first, into the top of his collarbone where it terminated into the shoulder capsule, the pressure causing his hand to fall numbly and limply from her thigh.

“Jason, may I have that angel shot now?”

“Absolutely,” he didn’t hesitate, “you want it with some lime?”

“Neat, please.” her gaze didn’t falter from ragefully glaring at the criminal in front of her.

“No problem there,” he said, taking the last sip of his drink and standing to escort her out.

She released the pressure from the fascia points, snatched up her handbag, and left, half a step ahead of Jason.

Once past the door, she slammed herself against the cool exterior face brick, trying to counteract the accelerating hyperventilation.

Jason took two steps through the door, then turned to her, looking confused, curious, and kind of amused (not intentionally invalidating or mocking her distress).

“Sorry, just need thirteen seconds to panic before I get out of here,” she said, gesturing to her small second-hand car.

“Cool,” Jason casually let his body fall against the brick beside her, hands in his pockets, like the suave-cool-dude he clearly was.

There was a small pause. Jason was chill. He seemed to have nowhere else he needed to be.

She focused on breathing, her head spinning with thoughts. Y’know, like: ‘holy shit, that could’ve become death’, ‘what did I just do’, ‘I could have died’, ‘is it work hours for my therapist right now’, ‘do I need to call someone about this’, ‘I feel like I’ve done something wrong’, ‘holy shit, there's a strange guy right next to me, and I have no idea if he’s safe, I’ve inconvenienced him, he helped me, maybe he expects something in return?, I should apologise for messing up his night; no, that's bullshit, I could have died’.

“So what’re we panicking about?” he asked.

Her breathing stopped on an exhale, then she burst out laughing.

He smiled, glad to hear her laugh, finding it a good look on her, and feeling pride at being able to evoke a positive response.

“Holy shit, dude,” she said, winding down from laughing. “Can I use that? One hell of a replacement for ‘wanna talk about it’.”

He chuckled along, a pretty, toothy smile semi-intentionally pulling at her heart. “How often do you ask people if they wanna talk about it?” he asked.

“Often,” she said with a fake wince, “Imma go with ‘often’ on that.”

“Shit,” he said, gaze skyward, “Might need different friends then.”

“Nah, I like my two whole friends,” she said.

He looked at her with a smirk. “What about your four half friends?”

“Those bitches were toxic. They never once asked me what we were collectively panicking about.”

He laughed and shook his head, looking back up at the sky. They were both really happy with the casual, playful conversation. She genuinely didn't know if this was flirting. He definitely was trying to flirt but wasn’t quite sure if she was reciprocating.

She risked a couple of glances at him, feeling proud of making him laugh, and pleasantly surprised that he hadn't just left. She admired his looks for a moment.

He seemed playfully content and wistful while he gazed at the sky. She perceived a streak of nihilistic or anarchistic cynicism in the way he watched the few visible stars.

She thought to herself, 'This is nice, the ambient city life, the cool night air, being with him,'. A voice in her head countered her thoughts with: 'WTF, you just met this guy, you were sexually assaulted, have had 15% of a panic attack, and you’re basking in the moment?' She then argued back with herself: 'I’m grounding, being present in the moment; things my therapist told me to do'.

She shook off the back and forth from her head and took a deep breath of the night city air before pushing herself up off the wall to take the last couple more therapeutically paced breaths.

Jason watched her move, feeling sad as he sensed the moment coming to an end. He knew he'd likely never see her again and lamented losing what could have been based on how nice 'what was' made him feel about himself. He chose not to reach toward her, to try to see more of her, to re-experience what her presence made him feel. He hoped this was something he could re-experience without her specifically, as this feeling probably wasn't meant for him, given his life, his job, his past, him; maybe he didn't really deserve it.

He didn't show her this, instead bringing his gaze to her with a slight tilt of his head, preparing to send her off and tell her she'd be just fine. He knew he'd probably watch her taillights fade down the street as she drove away, feeling a thin shard of sadness sticking into his sternum. He might even stand on the pavement, unsure of what to do with himself for the rest of the night, undecided on whether or not he should try to drown the new little bit of turbulence and sadness in a couple hours of billionaire-inspired hedonism and substance (ab)use.

She opened her eyes from her grounding breath to look at him. How had this happened to her? A gorgeous, ‘mainstream-cool’ knight in shining armour (kind of), standing- staying with her while she brought herself down from being in danger. Did she do something to inspire him to do this for her?

She knew she "wasn’t like the other girls" (yuck), but she didn’t think she had anything that would encourage a "mainstream-cool" kind of guy to sacrifice his time and energy for her safety. She certainly didn’t think she was simply pretty enough to warrant such a decision on his part.

She decided she was being prejudiced, assuming he was superficial based on how he looked and carried himself… and the type of club she had found him in. She would take it as it was, and be grateful to him and for whatever factors encouraged him to look out for her the way he had.

“Thank you, Jason. I don’t really want to bring it up, but… you may have saved my life tonight. So, really, thank you,” she expressed gratefully as they both drifted towards her car. She easily found her key in its designated pocket in her handbag.

“Well, you were the one who gave that asshole whatever that Vulcan nerve pinch thing was. And you were handling yourself perfectly fine before that too,” he complimented as she sat and turned the key in the ignition far enough to roll down the driver's side window.

“I mean,” her lips held a playful smile as she closed and locked the car door, “you’re not wrong,”

He chuckled, then removed one of his hands from a pocket to place it atop the car as he bent down slightly to see her.

“So, uh, you gonna be okay?” he watched her hands move while she secured her seatbelt. She sighed, looking ahead of her and biting her lip in thought, something he found quite endearing.

“You know what, give me your hand real quick,” she extended her hand to the sill of the open window and reached into the cubby hole (glove box) with the other.

Jason looked at her hand, noticing her gel-painted nails, a simple, dark maroon red, cropped to a reasonable, type-able length. Her skin was unmarred by the scars he bore, or the callouses thickening along the undersides of his fingers. He tentatively placed his palm against hers, half-preparing for her to recoil at contact with his tainted skin. Instead, she curled her fingers around his, so gently and with a type of care that caused an unfamiliar warmth to fill his chest.

Her other hand brought the nib of a pen to the back of his hand, “DM me tomorrow morning. I should have an answer to that question by then,” she said, finishing her ballpoint message. She looked up at him, trying to hide the hope she felt.

He nodded, “Fair enough,”

She responded with a smile that made her worry she’d shown him too much of her hope. She gently squeezed his hand before letting it go to turn the key in the ignition.

That last touch stole ten degrees of temperature from the blood in his veins, proving to be a slightly jarring half-second. The warmth of his skin lingered on her palm against the steering wheel.

“Again; thank you, Jason.”

“You’re welcome…” he stumbled over reading her Instagram handle from the back of his hand where she had placed it.

They both chuckled as she rolled up her window and pulled out of her parking spot, answering the siren call of her shower and bed a short drive away.

Jason stood on that pavement and quietly muttered to himself: ”…what the fuck just happened to me…?”

He was half right in his expectation of how his night would continue, because the billionaire-esque hedonistic substance abuse he chased did nothing to distance her and that bit of turbulence, comfort, sadness, and hope from his mind.

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